Harry Potter and the Art of Wing Chun
by L.C. Li
Summary: Sick of Dudley's bullying, Harry decides to study martial arts behind his aunt and uncle's back. Will this change how he makes friends and fights Voldemort? Possibly. Will it make him a boss? Heck yes.
1. Da Hai Kwoon

_**(A/N: Britpicking is welcome, as I am but an ignorant foreigner with a strong affinity for Harry Potter and fish with chips.)**_

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter nor his wonderful universe, nor have I put J.K. Rowling under the Imperius curse during the writing of her magical books.

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**HARRY POTTER and the ART of WING CHUN**

**1**  
_da hai kwoon_

Dudley Dursley of number four, Privet Drive, was often seen as a bit of an idiot. The average adult would look at the boy and immediately label him as a big, dumb bully due to his round body, chubby cheeks, small, beady eyes, and fat hands. Dudley liked to conform with this by speaking only in the most practical of terms, never using words that stretched past two syllables. If he absolutely had to speak at great lengths, he liked to do so with his fists.

As much as Mr. and Mrs. Dursley liked to boast about their only child, they seemed to hold a silent agreement that Dudley would never be involved in anything intellectual. They poured thousands of pounds into him for the best private school, hundreds more into an innumerable amount of lessons for athletics and arts, and still more into texts and documentaries that would help him learn—but whenever the unsatisfactory report card came in the mail, it was tossed away without a second glance. They briefly considered hiring a private tutor, but a well-placed tantrum by Dudley quickly put that idea to an end. After that, it was decided that Mr. and Mrs. Dursley would let Dudley take care of his own education, no matter how poorly, and they could only encourage him.

Yes, Dudley Dursley had quite the reputation.

However, the truth of the matter was that Dudley was very cunning. He noticed that his stupid, frail cousin Harry Potter seemed to be the only one who figured this out. For Dudley could have his parents wrapped around his little finger with a few sloppy tears and a bit of a high-decibel tirade. He could keep his peers in line with the crack of a knuckle. He could shut up his teachers with a toothy grin and a straight posture. Harry saw it all, but Harry couldn't do anything. It was wonderful.

Of course, that wasn't enough for Dudley. Harry instantly became his favorite target because he was so helpless. He didn't have friends who would tattle on him or parents who would protect him. He could bully Harry all he pleased and nobody would do anything.

On this particular fine June day, Dudley summoned Piers, Dennis, and Gordon to his house to "play." (Malcolm couldn't quite make it, but Dudley thought four against one would be enough.) Dennis made sure to bring his special poking-stick, and Piers readied a little bucket of ice water. Gordon managed to steal his father's extra-long jumprope.

"Come outside, Harry," Dudley demanded once his friends were ready.

"I can't. I'm locked in my cupboard," Harry said.

"Unlock the cupboard, Daddy," Dudley demanded.

Vernon Dursley unlocked the cupboard.

Harry clambered out of the cupboard, brushing a spider off his shoulder. It nearly landed on Dudley. Dudley could have thrown a tantrum right there, but he decided to save it for later. He reckoned he was going to pay Harry back once they stepped outside.

"Come outside, Harry," he said.

Harry went outside.

Gordon and Dennis were standing there, the jumprope stretched between them. Dennis's poking-stick lay by his feet. Piers's ice bucket was clutched tightly in his arms. They were all grinning exactly the way Dudley told them to.

Harry turned to Dudley. "The neighbors will notice," he said blandly.

Dudley was a bit unhappy with his calm reaction. "They're all out of town," he taunted.

Harry gave a deep sigh. "Might as well get this over with."

This made Dudley angrier than usual. First his dirty, rotten cousin almost flicked a spider on him, and now he was acting as if Dudley's bullying was nothing to be afraid of? Dudley decided to have a little change of plans.

"Slacken the rope, Gordon, Dennis," he commanded.

Gordon and Dennis slackened the rope. Dudley yanked Harry by the shoulder and shoved him.

"Jump rope, Harry," he commanded.

Harry staggered to his feet. Gordon and Dennis whipped the rope at him. He jumped, clearing it by a hair. Gordon and Dennis went slowly around, but he jumped that one too.

"Faster," Dudley barked.

Gordon and Dennis went fast, then slowed suddenly just as Harry was jumping. They pulled at the rope. Harry's feet tangled and he fell on the hard cement, scraping his small hands.

"Clumsy Harry," Dudley jeered. "Can't even play jumprope right!"

Harry got to his feet. His eyes were strangely cold. "Not when it's rigged like that. I'd like to see you do it."

Dudley stiffened at the challenge. "I'm telling Mummy and Daddy!"

Harry shrugged. "Fine. Go ahead. You always do anyway."

For the first time, Dudley felt rage stirring up. Harry saw it too and smirked at him.

Dudley lunged forward and snatched one end of the jumprope from Dennis. "You'll pay for that, you stupid... stupid, _unwanted_ _orphan_!"

It wasn't a vulgar term by any means, but it was the only one that got Harry good. Dudley saw Harry's cheeks flush and eyes flash in anger. Dudley only laughed. Finally there was a rise out of his dull cousin.

"Pull!" Dudley said, and he and Gordon pulled. Harry's feet tangled and he landed on the concrete again, this time on his back. He managed to slip his ankles out of the rope and rub them. Dudley noted with some satisfaction that they looked very sore.

"Piers!" Dudley said, and Piers bolted forward and dumped the ice water on Harry. It might be a hot day, but Dudley knew that Harry wouldn't enjoy the bath. Harry's forlorn expression gave everything away.

"Poke him with your stick, Dennis," Dudley snarled. Piers pinned his arms down, Gordon his legs. Dennis poked Harry with his stick and Dudley let loose a few punches. Harry didn't even move.

They were done after only thirty seconds. Dudley lost interest. Harry wasn't even responding beyond painful grunts. He looked like the fight had gone out of him; he didn't even seem angry anymore.

Dudley punched right at the middle of Harry's glasses. They cracked for the third time that week. "I'm glad no one wants you, orphan," he jeered. "I have much more fun!"

And as he had since he first learned to walk, Dudley Dursley of number four, Privet Drive, swaggered away with his large, nearly-eight-year-old bottom close to bulging out of his pants.

Perhaps it was good that Dudley never turned around. Perhaps it was good that he didn't bother to check Harry's reaction. Had Dudley turned around and seen the great fire in Harry's eyes, he might have run up to his room and hidden beneath his blankets until Harry was out of the house.

::-::

Long Wu, the head sifu of Da Hai Kwoon, was always the first to enter and the last to leave. He would arrive just after elevensies to set up for his three o' clock afternoon class and stay until ten in the evening for clean-up. All his classes concluded by eight thirty, of course, and clean-up never took more than half an hour, but Wu Sifu always liked to stick around for an hour—just in case.

Imagine his surprise when, for the first time in his life, someone actually entered his kwoon at half past nine. Unsupervised, no less. Wu Sifu knew he wasn't getting any younger, but he was certain that the boy couldn't be any older than nine, and since when have nine-year-old boys been able to wander about unsupervised? He supposed it shouldn't be a big deal, as this was Little Whinging where everybody knew everybody else (often more than they fancied)—but there was still something that bothered him, something like a nagging at the back of his head.

"Hello," Wu Sifu said amicably. "Who might you be?"

The boy raised his head. Beneath an unsettled, wild clump of black hair, he had the most startling pair of green eyes. "I'm Harry Potter from number four, Privet Drive," the boy said plainly. "The Dursleys are my... guardians."

Harry.

_The_ Harry.

_That_ Harry?

Wu Sifu noted with equal parts concern and equal parts amusement that Harry was oddly serious for his age. "I don't suppose they know you're here," he said.

Harry was quiet.

Wu Sifu knew the Dursleys. Well, he knew _about_ them. Truthfully, they didn't seem to be the sort of people that he would _want_ to know. But everybody knew _about_ everybody else in Little Whinging, and the Dursleys were not exempt from this. From what Wu Sifu could tell, the Dursleys tried to be as normal as possible by acting as idiotically as possible. He couldn't really blame them, because Little Whinging seemed to attract those sorts of people, but that didn't mean he had to like it.

"Why are you at this kwoon?" Wu Sifu asked gently, gesturing for Harry to sit in the chair across from him.

"Dudley keeps bullying me," Harry said exasperatedly. "I want him to stop."

Wu Sifu had many students with the same type of motive as Harry. It disappointed him to some extent. While he sympathized with those who were bullied—it had happened to him when he was younger too—he did not condone such behavior. "You wish for revenge," he said.

"Not really," Harry said. "I know it'll take time, but for now I want to learn how to defend myself."

That was a very surprising answer, especially for a boy Harry's age. Wu Sifu had talked with many boys who not only wanted revenge, but wanted it right away. Those boys were convinced they could become martial arts masters overnight. They always left after their first lesson, discouraged and angry.

"My classes take place in the afternoons for the rest of the summer, Harry," Wu Sifu said seriously. "I'm open to the idea of you enrolling without your, er, guardians knowing... but you must come at a time where I have class. And unfortunately, there is also... the, er, issue of money."

Harry's shoulders slumped. "Oh." And then he straightened. "Money isn't a problem."

"I don't want my students stealing, Harry."

Harry's shoulders slumped again. "Oh."

Wu Sifu knew not to hold the thought of stealing against Harry; the boy was only seven, almost eight, and wasn't aware of the repercussions. He had probably seen his awful, spoiled cousin getting away with it all the time. Dudley Dursley was a real terror around the neighborhood, but nobody could get Petunia and Vernon to see that.

"If you can manage to clean... No, your aunt and uncle won't let you. Perhaps a... no, you can't even have light labor until you are thirteen..." Wu Sifu sighed, leaning back in his chair. "Harry, I'm afraid I can't have you unless you get a scholarship."

"A scholarship?" Harry's back straightened to an almost frightening angle. "How can I get one, sir?"

"Don't call me 'sir.' It makes me feel older than I already am. Sifu, if you must," Wu Sifu said amusedly. "As for scholarships... I would have to give you a little pretest, although I'm pretty sure you would pass that with flying colors. The only problem is that no one has donated a scholarship in two years."

Harry's shoulders slumped. Wu Sifu began to fear that they would be dislocated with all this repeated raising and slumping. "Two years?"

"Yes." Wu Sifu really pitied the boy. He had a vague memory of seeing him at a grocery store with the Dursleys. All he could really remember was barely restraining himself from calling on child service or social security. Harry was treated more like a slave than a child. "I can look around..."

"No..." Harry swallowed very hard. Wu Sifu knew that he wasn't far from tears. "If you haven't gotten one in two years, you won't get one now," he said miserably.

"Not necessarily, young man."

Harry swiveled about. Wu Sifu turned his gaze. A friendly-looking couple stood in the doorway, their hands on a young girl's shoulders.

"Ahh, Mr. and Mrs. Granger," Wu Sifu said, rising to his feet. "What wonderful timing."

Mrs. Granger stepped through the doorway of Wu Sifu's office, looking slight abashed. "We're very sorry. It's quite late, but we were caught in some urgent family business..."

"But Hermione wanted to meet you right away," Mr. Granger said cheerily, clapping his hand on his daughter's shoulder.

Hermione Granger scowled. She was dressed very neatly, as if she had been attending a formal dinner party, and her usually wild hair had been forced back into a ribbon. Unfortunately this only gave her the appearance of an exploding, curly hedgehog, since her hair was very bushy and utterly untamable.

"Yes, she looks thrilled," Wu Sifu said wryly.

At a reproving look from Mrs. Granger, Hermione quickly wiped her scowl off her face and stiffly extended a hand. "Nice to meet you," she said politely. "I'm Hermione Granger."

Wu Sifu took her hand and shook it up and down. As distant as her expression was, she had a very good handshake. "Long Wu. Everybody calls me Wu Sifu, or just Sifu. Your choice."

Hermione nodded curtly and turned to Harry. He had been peculiarly quiet during the Grangers' drop in. Wu Sifu realized (with no small amount of guilt) that he had almost forgotten about the boy's presence. Hermione, apparently, had not.

"Hello. I don't quite think I need to repeat my name, because you heard it already." She stuck out her hand again. "How do you do?"

"I'm Harry Potter," Harry said, shaking her hand.

"I know," Hermione said. "This is Little Whinging. Everybody knows."

Harry looked surprised. "I thought nobody knew. The Dursleys don't really, er, make me known."

"Of _course_ they don't," Hermione said, tossing her head. "But everybody knows anyway. We know they try to keep you a secret by keeping you in the house all day. Abominable, that's what it is!"

Wu Sifu highly doubted that Harry knew what 'abominable' meant, but the boy nodded placidly.

"Sifu Long Wu," Mr. Granger said, diverting his attention, "my wife and I have come to an agreement. We wish to enroll Hermione in your classes, effective next week." He glanced at Harry. "I'd also like to know this young man's story."

Harry's eyes widened. "Me, sir?"

"Who _else_ would he be talking to?" Hermione said. "I don't see any _other_ young men around."

Wu Sifu coughed loudly.

Mrs. Granger stepped forward, smiling warmly at Harry. "You must be the Dursley's... um..."

"Nephew, apparently." Harry's nose scrunched in distaste. "They don't seem to like it."

Mrs. Granger nodded thoughtfully. "And you want to take lessons here, right?"

Harry's shoulders slumped for the fourth? fifth? six hundred ninety-fourth? time. "Yes, ma'am. But I can't get out of the house during the day unless I have to play with Dudley. And I don't know where to get the money." The young boy's eyes tightened. "I think I could work a little... but I can't get out of the house."

Mrs. Granger turned to her husband. One look, and she knew they were both thinking the same thing.

"Sifu Long Wu," Mr. Granger said, "do you give private lessons?"

Wu Sifu frowned. "Not usually, no..." Then he understood. "You want to sponsor Harry?"

Harry's head shot up so fast that his glasses bounced against the bridge of his nose.

Mr. and Mrs. Granger exchanged another glance. "Well, um, all the children in Little Whinging know what he has to go through," Mrs. Granger said in a very soft voice. "This is a wonderful opportunity to help him."

"And he made friends with Hermione," Mr. Granger said proudly. "He actually made friends with—"

"Daddy!" Hermione whined, elbowing Mr. Granger in the thigh. He winced.

Wu Sifu held back a laugh. "So you would sponsor Harry, who would come to the kwoon at night and take private lessons from me."

Mrs. Granger nodded. Mr. Granger only frowned in confusion. "What's a... kwoon?"

Hermione clucked her tongue in disapproval. "It's the name for a martial arts training center, of _course_. Like a dojo, but Chinese." And she gave a long-suffering sigh at her father's lack of knowledge concerning kwoons and martial arts, no doubt having read every available book on the subjects before she came.

Wu Sifu held back another laugh. "I believe this will work. Unlike most sifus, I suppose I've gotten used to staying up late." He grinned at Harry, who was beaming at the Grangers with such intensity that it seemed his eyes might fall right out of his head. "You'll have to sneak out of the house three days a week, Harry."

"I'll manage," Harry said quickly, scrambling to his feet. "You don't care, do you?"

"Hermione tells us that the Dursleys aren't very kind to you," Mrs. Granger said sympathetically. "Greg and I have been wanting to do something about that for a while now."

"You'll have to steer clear of their friends, though," Mr. Granger said warningly. "I expect they'll be very nasty to you if they find out."

Harry shook his head furiously. "I'll be alright. I can't... I can't even thank you properly for the chance you've given me. I promise I won't waste your money. I'll practice every day." He bowed. Twice. "Thank you so much, Mr. and Mrs. Granger! Thank you, Sifu!" He even grinned widely at Hermione. "Thank you, Hermione!"

Hermione's brow furrowed. "Whatever for?" she asked.

Harry paused. "Um... For being my first friend?"

Hermione's eyes widened. "You're my first friend, too," she said solemnly.

When Harry and the Grangers finally left the kwoon (after a long, long chat and some nice tea), Wu Sifu decided not to let them know that it was far past closing time. He had a feeling that the next few months, although difficult, would be very rewarding.

He pulled at a drawer in his desk and filed to a plain, small note with loopy handwriting—a note that hadn't been there a minute ago:

**_Keep an eye on Harry. -AD_**

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_**(For previews, extensive notes/backstories, and a progress bar on the upcoming chapter, check out my blog at lcli dot tumblr dot com. I thank you greatly for taking the time to read this story and hope you are enjoying.**_

_**If you have any questions, critique, or other comments, I will gladly accept them.)**_


	2. The Juvenile Barrister

_**(A/N: I actually researched British law and had compiled a whole list of points to be used against/for the Dursleys until I realized that all the laws I had gathered didn't take place until at least 1989... which is after this point in time. So I'm moving back the Children's Act of 1989 to 1986 in order for it to make sense. Please bear with it.)**_

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**HARRY POTTER and the ART of WING CHUN**

**2**  
_the juvenile barrister_

The next few weeks were the most brutal in all of young Harry's life—and that was including the time where Petunia Dursley shut him out of the house during the hottest day in June and forced him to pick weeds until sundown. His arms ached from push-ups, his stomach from crunches, his legs from sprinting, and muscles he didn't even know about from the hundreds of obscure exercises Wu Sifu invented. But Harry was determined to practise until he could successfully defend himself from Dudley, and even at just eight years old—well, _almost_ eight years old—he didn't make a single complaint.

When their lessons—which were mostly conditioning—first began, Wu Sifu was acting in a very peculiar manner. Sometimes Harry caught him staring at him during exercises, muttering under his breath:

"Surely he's not...?"

"But the resemblance _is_ striking..."

"How could I not have noticed it before?"

And the strangest one by far:

"What was Dumbledore thinking, sending him to a place like _this_..."

Harry learned to ignore Wu Sifu during these moods. Whenever he tried asking questions, Wu Sifu would suddenly shut his mouth and refuse to say anything more. Harry did notice, however, that during Wu Sifu's free time (which was very scarce), he would be stooped over a very thick and heavy book of law—the kind of book that Hermione Granger might be interested in. Harry wanted to ask him about that too, but Wu Sifu always looked so deep in thought that he felt bad for interrupting.

"Well, isn't it _obvious_?" Hermione said one afternoon. (Harry had snuck out of the house while Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon were having lunch with a friend.)

"What is?" Harry asked curiously.

"You said that Sifu is studying _law_," Hermione said very slowly, as if she were speaking to a very dense child.

"Yes," Harry said, beginning to feel a little annoyed.

"Which _act_, specifically?"

"Which act? Come on, Hermione, how would I know that?"

"Pay attention to the title next time you see him," Hermione said in her know-it-all voice.

So Harry did. It was difficult, but he managed to get a glimpse of the cover when Wu Sifu was slipping it back on his shelf.

_Children Act of 1986, Regarding the Care, Supervision, and Protection of Children._

::-::

The eve of Dudley's birthday hit the two-week training mark.

Dudley had been, well, oddly inactive. He didn't boss Harry around. He didn't bully Harry with Gordon or Dennis or Piers. He didn't even wake Harry up when he slept in late, exhausted from training. Harry didn't know why, but he decided not to ask questions. The last thing he wanted to do was provoke Dudley into bullying him—as if he didn't have enough of that already.

Dudley wasn't the only one acting strangely. Harry's aunt and uncle were also in an unusual sort of mood. Uncle Vernon didn't lock Harry in his cupboard. Aunt Petunia didn't make him cook every meal. Neither of them ragged at Harry very much, and he returned the favor by making himself as invisible as possible—he didn't want his lessons cancelled. At one point, Harry wondered if this was just all in his imagination; that, perhaps, martial arts had made his circumstances more bearable to him, since he had something to focus on besides his relatives.

But everything would change on Dudley's eighth birthday.

It started out as all Dudley's birthdays did: Petunia Dursley woke him up to cook breakfast. With bleary eyes he stumbled out of his cupboard, gathering bacon, eggs, and toast for Dudley. Thankfully he hadn't had a lesson with Wu Sifu the previous day, but the long nights were still getting to him.

"Don't you dare let anything burn," Aunt Petunia said shrilly. "I want everything to be perfect on my Duddy's birthday."

Harry decided to ignore her, as this sort of comment was becoming rather redundant. Aunt Petunia had said the exact same thing on Dudley's seventh birthday, and on his sixth, and on his fifth—in fact, Harry was pretty sure that she'd said it on his first birthday, even if he couldn't quite remember it.

Harry was just turning over the eggs when he heard a shrill screech come from the kitchen table. Dudley had been counting his presents—and appeared to not be pleased with the resulting number.

"_Twenty-five_?!" Dudley raged. "Why are there only twenty-five?!"

Harry rolled his eyes, turned back to the stove, and proceeded to block out all the noise from his ears. He thought through the different blocks of Wing Chun as Aunt Petunia dithered, reviewed the three kicks he had learned as Uncle Vernon pampered, and considered the ostentatious flip he had seen on the telly as Dudley screamed and tossed about. It would be best not to get involved in this sort of affair.

"Boy! What are you doing just standing there?! Get over here!"

Or not.

"Uncle Vernon, the eggs will burn..."

"_DO I NEED TO REPEAT MYSELF_?!"

_If your sad excuse for a brain allows,_ said the snarkier part of Harry's brain while his mouth automatically said, "No, Uncle Vernon," and his legs automatically moved to the living room.

Dudley tossed a sofa cushion at Harry. It hit him right in the face. "DON'T LET HIM ANYWHERE NEAR MY PRESENTS!" Dudley howled. "HE'LL STEAL THEM!"

Harry rolled his eyes and started back to the kitchen.

"NOT ONE STEP MORE, BOY!" Uncle Vernon roared.

"But the eggs—"

"_THAT'S IT_! BACK INTO YOUR CUPBOARD, AND DON'T YOU DARE COME OUT!"

As Uncle Vernon hoisted Harry under one arm and stalked toward the cupboard beneath the stairs, Harry could not help but think how _unfair_ this whole business was. He was just cooking breakfast like Aunt Petunia told him to, and then he went out into the living room like Uncle Vernon told him to, and then he didn't go near the presents like Dudley told him to, and—Harry just wished he could get up, right at this instant, and run away.

In fact, Uncle Vernon had just opened the cupboard door when the ringing note of the doorbell bounced down the hall.

"That must be Piers," Dudley said gleefully, his earlier tantrum all but forgotten as he leapt to the door.

But it wasn't Piers who stood on the picturesque whitewashed porch of number four, Privet Drive.

It was Hermione Granger, dressed in all black with her hair—lathered with gel in a sad attempt to tame it, Harry noticed—tied up into a frizzy bun.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Dursley," she said placidly, disgust flickering over her face as she spotted the cupboard beneath the stairs. "My name is Hermione Granger. I am Mr. Harry Potter's barrister-at-law."

::-::

"You're seven."

"_Well_! I _never_! _I_, Mrs. Dursley, am _eight_! And I am to be nine come September 19th!" And Hermione turned up her nose.

Aunt Petunia fidgeted, casting an incredulous look at her husband. He did not look amused.

"Harry's with _our_ barrister!" he barked. "You're too young to have credentials!"

Hermione turned up her nose even higher. "I _have_ credentials, _obviously_." She began counting off her fingers. "I took first place at the National Spelling Bee in my age group last year, second place in the National Book-Reading Competition—first place was a junior in high school, you know—and third place in the youth-seventeen debate at the city hall. I have also checked out every single book of law that they have available at our local library." Hermione tossed her head for good measure. Her bun almost burst open.

"This is outrageous!" Aunt Petunia said severely. "You're eight!"

"Almost nine!"

"You can't be a barrister!"

"Can too!"

"Can not! You need to take the bar exam!"

"I _have_ taken the bar exam! I aced it!"

Aunt Petunia stared. "What?"

"I made up my own when I was bored," Hermione said. "The library was closed."

It took all of Harry's willpower not to burst out laughing. Hermione Granger was truly one-of-a-kind. "You made your own bar exam?" he choked.

"Well, just because _most_ people have the mental capacity of a teaspoon doesn't mean _I _do," Hermione said. "Now, Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, I tire of this small talk. Let's get to the matter at hand."

"You're not a barrister!" Vernon said, his face growing very red.

Hermione Granger threw her hands up in the air. "Fine then! Whatever! I'm not a barrister! But I _have_ researched the law, Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, and I'm warning you to keep your eye on the Children Act of 1986!"

"Or what?" Uncle Vernon snarled.

"Or I'll be able to take Mr. Potter from your household because it is an environment unbefitting of a child his tender age!" Hermione crowed. (Harry decided not to point out that she was practically the same age as him.)

"Fine!" Uncle Vernon said, his thick hands rolling into fists. "We never wanted the boy! Why didn't you take him sooner? Get him out of here! He's a bad influence on Duddy-dums!"

But Aunt Petunia's face suddenly went as white as a sheet. "V-Vernon, dear..."

"What?!" Uncle Vernon barked.

Aunt Petunia leaned over and began whispering a very fast and panicked stream of words into her husband's ear. Uncle Vernon's face went white, then red, then purple, then white again, then a bit green.

"You... don't say?" he said weakly once Aunt Petunia had finished.

Hermione and Harry exchanged a glance. This was certainly an unexpected turn of events; it appeared that Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon _had_ to keep Harry with them.

"Let me suggest a compromise," Hermione said primly, crossing her knees and leaning forward. "Mr. Wu, the sifu of Da Hai Kwoon, has been looking into acquiring legal guardianship for Mr. Potter."

Harry felt his heart give a leap. Legal guardianship? Wu Sifu only knew him for such a short amount of time, and he was already looking into being a legal guardian? If that meant what Harry thought it did—if he could get Harry away from this place—

"B-but..." Uncle Vernon began to splutter.

Hermione held up a single hand to silence him. "Listen to these terms. It appears that you cannot fully relinquish your guardianship for personal reasons. Consequently, there remains only one solution: Mr. Potter stays with Mr. Wu, who will become a legal guardian, and simultaneously, you shall retain your own guardianship."

As Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia huddled close and began to speak very quickly, Harry tried to calm his racing heart. Surely this was too good to be true. They wouldn't let him go. Not when he'd been held captive here for seven—nearly eight—years.

"Petunia, would they notice?"

"I don't know..."

"I don't want that old coot coming after us."

A shudder. "Oh, Vernon, imagine what the neighbors would say!"

"I don't want anything to do with _their_ kind!"

Nod-nod-nod.

"But this is a chance in a lifetime, Petunia. He could be out of our hair!"

"I can hear you, you know," Harry said.

"The extra space would be great for Dudley," Petunia agreed.

_What? Does Dudley want the cupboard beneath the stairs?_ Harry thought wryly as Hermione snorted in a very un-ladylike fashion.

"But if we do allow him to stay with Long..."

"Long knows martial arts," Petunia said. "He can keep the boy safe, I'm sure."

"So they won't come after us, then."

Nod-nod-nod.

"If you don't mind, I'd like to hear an answer _before_ the end of the world," Hermione Granger said dryly, tossing her head.

Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia turned back to her.

"We will allow Harry to stay with Long," Aunt Petunia said stiffly, "but if something goes wrong..."

"Oh, I wouldn't worry," Hermione said, just as stiffly. "He'll be in better hands than yours." And she stood up, swiveled on one heel, and marched out the door.

::-::

It took Harry less than a minute to pack. After all, he didn't have much, and most of what he did have he would rather leave behind.

He couldn't believe his luck. After nearly eight years of misery at the Dursley household, he had given up all hope that someone, someone kind and loving with a great big box of photos of his mum and dad, would swoop down to number four, Privet Drive, and carry him away. Although Wu Sifu had no box of photos, Harry was sure that he was kind, and if he took in Harry, Harry could take proper classes at the kwoon.

Hermione all but assaulted him the moment he stepped out the door, a pitifully small bag slung over one shoulder. "Oh, Harry! I'm _sorry_ I didn't come sooner!"

"Why? Hermione, this is the best thing that's ever happened to me!" Harry said.

"No, no," Hermione said, shaking her head so quickly that her bun came undone and her bushy locks slapped at her face. "I should have come _years_ ago! Oh, I _didn't_ know the Dursleys were so _terrible_! Why has nobody done anything about it?!"

"'Mione, it's okay," Harry said calmly. "Almost everyone around here's like the Dursleys. And besides, you didn't even know me years ago."

Hermione made a very strange face, like she had swallowed too much water in one gulp and wanted to spit it back out, but she nodded tightly. "Alright. If you insist."

Harry noticed her strange reaction, but he decided to keep silent.

::-::

Wu Sifu was immersed in classes when Harry arrived at the kwoon. Although Hermione insisted on his entrance, Harry was determined to stay away. If he walked in right now, covered in Dudley's baggy hand-me-downs with glasses made more out of tape than anything else, he knew that he would be a laughingstock. And that would make Wu Sifu a laughingstock. Harry didn't much fancy making either himself or Wu Sifu into a laughingstock, so he decided to hide outside.

"Don't be ridiculous, Harry," Hermione said with a huff. "It's not like _I_ thought poorly of you when I first met you."

"You're not like most people, 'Mione," Harry pointed out.

At that, Hermione agreed for him to stay outside, under the condition that she keep him company the whole time. So they snuck around the kwoon to an abandoned bench, where Harry showed her the few items he had taken along from the Dursley household.

"This is my change collection," he confided. "I pick up pence that Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon miss. Sometimes I even see a stray pound around the house or streets. Dudley's very forgetful, so he loses a lot of them."

Hermione's eyes widened. She took the money-laden sock in her hand as gingerly as she would a porcelain doll.

"I thought of running away once," Harry said. "How far would I get?"

Hermione's lips pursed as she counted out the money. "Two... four... six... Why, Harry! You found a five-pound coin!"

"Would that get me out of town?" Harry asked eagerly.

"I don't think so, but that's a lot for a coin," Hermione said. And she continued counting.

Around ten minutes later (Hermione had wanted to triple-check to make sure she got the right amount) they came up with twenty-five pounds and fifty-six pence.

"You must have very sharp eyes," Hermione said seriously. "When did you start this collection?"

"When I was four," Harry said. "I found tuppence in my bedroom—the cupboard, I mean. I figured not to show Uncle Vernon."

Hermione pursed her lips again. "I _am_ glad you are away from that horrid place," she said, wrinkling her nose. "If the Dursleys protested more, I would have scoured every inch of the Children's Act to get you out! Why, part three, provision of accommodation for children, section twenty—that alone might be enough! Oh, or even better, part four, general, section thirty-one... Ohhh, if only they didn't have part five, section forty-four! That almost ruins everything..."

"I'm not with the Dursleys anymore, 'Mione," Harry said.

"Well, yes. But there's nothing wrong with being prepared!" Hermione fixed him with a sharp look. "They might force you to go back, Harry. I don't think that they were supposed to let you leave the house."

Harry was quiet for a moment. What force could cause the Dursleys to keep a child against their own will? He knew his aunt and uncle were scared of only two things: the concept of magic, and Dudley, who could easily be mollified with money or sweets. But what good would magic do when it didn't even exist?

And then there was Hermione. Going off of her strange reaction a little while ago, she _had_ known him from before. But from what? And as nice as the Grangers seemed to be, would they really sponsor a stranger just from the kindness of their heart? Why was Hermione reading up on guardianship law, just for him? What if they... _wanted something_ from him?

Harry tried not to think about it too much. This was the first time he had made a real friend.

He didn't want it to be his last.

* * *

**_(For previews, extensive notes/backstories, and a progress bar on the upcoming chapter, check out my blog at lcli dot tumblr dot com.)_**

**Q: Why is Hermione enrolled in martial arts? Why didn't any of the adults in Little Whinging act on Harry's situation? (Esp. Wu Sifu and the Grangers) If everyone knew Harry was being abused, why didn't they do anything?**

These questions will be covered in the next few chapters. (In addition, I went back and corrected several small details in the previous chapter.)

**Q: Why is Dumbledore keeping Harry at the Dursley's? What is his motivation?**

Although this was technically covered in the canon series, I wasn't very pleased with the motivation and decided to flesh it out a little more. Dumbledore's reasoning will be covered in the future. (A long while in the future, unfortunately.)

_**(You have my gratitude for taking the time to read this story. **__**If you have any questions, critique, or other comments, I will gladly accept them and answer as is appropriate.)**_


	3. The Occlumens

_**(A/N: My apologies on the number of chapters before Harry actually starts attending Hogwarts. This chapter covers the longest stretch in time, and I promise it won't be long before he starts mixing magic and martial arts.)**_

_**(Again, I am an ignorant foreigner, so Britpicking is very welcome.)**_

_**(One last note: Practically everything I wrote about Occlumency in this chapter is completely made up. Let me know if there are any conflicts with canon.)**_

* * *

**HARRY POTTER and the ART of WING CHUN**

**3  
**_the occlumens_**  
**

For the next few months, Harry felt like he was living in a dream.

Wu Sifu bought him new glasses and clothes that were actually his size—clothes that he actually _liked_. (Harry found that he had a strange fondness for cable-knitted jumpers, even though it was still summer.) He was able to take lessons without the Granger's help—they only had to pay for two weeks. The chores that he was assigned he did gladly, as Wu Sifu usually did them with him them. And the best thing was that there was no Dudley.

Only a few days in living at the kwoon and it felt like home.

Wu Sifu seemed to be a touch embarrassed, as he didn't have an apartment or a house, but slept in a spacey backroom that connected to his office. Harry didn't mind at all. Compared to the cupboard beneath the stairs, sleeping in the backroom was like staying at a five-star hotel. Besides, the decor was very relaxing: It was almost like taking residence in the middle of a little zen garden.

When Harry's eighth birthday came about, Hermione gave him a very heavy book on the history, structure, and technical aspects of Wing Chun. Harry was touched that she had gotten him a gift at all, but the book's fount size was smaller than his thumbnail and he doubted that he would ever read it.

Wu Sifu took Harry out to dinner at a fast food restaurant and ice cream. (He proposed something more elaborate, but Harry didn't fancy spending a lot of money, and he'd always wanted to try having a whole burger to himself.) Later that night, Harry also received his very own Nintendo Entertainment System along with two games from Wu Sifu.

It was the best birthday he'd ever had.

As the school season began to roll about again, Harry began to realize that Wu Sifu was spending a great portion of his (again, scarce) free time in his office. He always seemed to be talking to someone, and at times, yelling at them, but that couldn't be; no one had come in the dojo. Whenever Harry tried sneaking into the study, the room was always empty and Wu Sifu was always sitting at his desk, reading some newspaper or another.

The week before school began, Wu Sifu took Harry to an innumerable quantity of stores for supply shopping. New backpack, new pencils, new lunchbox, new _everything_. Harry was beginning to feel guilty for making Wu Sifu spend so much money on him, but Wu Sifu waved away his every protest.

"Remember, Harry, I am your guardian now. You are my responsibility. Besides, I don't mind spoiling you. It's rather fun."

At Harry's resulting frown:

"Well, if it really makes you feel poorly, you can always pay me back later." Then Wu Sifu would give him a stern glance. "But you should in no way feel obligated to do so. Understood?"

Wu Sifu also transferred Harry to a different school, wanting him to be as far away from Dudley Dursley as possible. Harry almost protested at this; although he was by no means an expert, he knew he could easily defend himself from Dudley's clumsy grapples and wide, swinging blows. Wu Sifu only snorted.

"You think I'm worried about you, Harry? No. I'm worried for the Dursleys' boy. I'd rather you not have to suffer the temptation of socking him in the face. Merlin knows he needs it, but it might get you into trouble, and that wouldn't do."

Harry felt honored by this response, but he also noticed how Wu Sifu curiously used 'Merlin.' Merlin? Nobody really talked about him regularly—especially not Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia, who hated all things related to magic. Harry probably wouldn't have even _heard_ of the name had his classmates not played so many video games and watched so much telly.

Three months passed in bliss. The new school was nice enough. No one cornered him in the bathrooms or shouted at him for violating the dress code (since Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia never thought it necessary to buy him the proper uniform). As it turned out, Hermione attended the same school. Harry found that she was quite unpopular, but he didn't care. He didn't want to be friends with people based on popularity anyway.

::-::

When the Christmas hols came, Wu Sifu brought Harry into his study, looking very serious.

"Harry," he began, "you are aware that kung fu is not limited to the body, yes?"

"Yes, Uncle Wu," Harry said (as his guardian was uncomfortable with his formal title). "The mind must also be trained for focus."

"Not just for focus, Harry," Wu Sifu said. "The mind is your most important tool. With your mind, you analyze your opponent's weaknesses. With your mind, you learn new tactics. And with your mind"—he whipped out a fist that stopped an inch away from Harry's nose—"you decide who is friend and who is foe."

Harry nearly went cross-eyed staring at the fist before him. What was Wu Sifu trying to get at? Was Harry supposed to block the fist?

Before he could react, Wu Sifu had withdrawn his punch. "My point is that kung fu must not only defend your body, Harry, but also your mind. As you get older, you may encounter people who wish to attack your mind."

"Attack... my mind, Uncle Wu?" Harry asked curiously.

"Influence it. Change it. Destroy it."

Harry felt his flesh crawl at the description. "B-but... Uncle Wu, that sounds like magic," he said, and then slapped his hands over his mouth, remembering how that word was forbidden in his previous household.

But Wu Sifu only smiled peculiarly. "Who said magic didn't exist, Harry?" he said softly.

A load of images swamped over Harry's eyes—screaming, green light, pain—and something in him, something buried very deeply, began to come to light.

Harry squared his shoulders and looked his guardian right in the eye. "How do we start, Uncle Wu?"

Wu Sifu crossed his legs, assuming his regular meditative pose. "I welcome you, Harry Potter, to the secret art of Occlumency."

::-::

Harry's eighth Christmas was, in his opinion, the only true Christmas he'd ever had. Wu Sifu had a large plastic tree stored in an abandoned corner of his office, which they set up and decorated with nice-looking anythings that were lying around. (Harry wanted to invite Hermione, but she was out of town to have Christmas with relatives.)

Harry managed to use some of the money from his sock to buy Wu Sifu a tiny figurine of a Chinese lucky cat. It was sloppily wrapped, but Wu Sifu didn't seem to mind in the slightest. In return, Wu Sifu established a regular allowance for Harry, recurring monthly, and taught Harry the basics of budgeting. Harry also received another book from Hermione Granger, who had changed her tune to fiction books: Orson Scott Card's _Ender's Game_. It was a thrilling piece of work, one that quickly became much more well-read than Hermione's previous gift. (He wasn't exactly sure what Hermione liked, but sent her some sort of thick and heavy book he found at the library that looked like it would interest her. She replied immediately, gushing praises on his choice.)

Harry could not have related to the phrase 'Happy Christmas' more than he did then.

As the holidays drew to a close, Wu Sifu concentrated more and more on Occlumency. Harry found his first lessons to be more baffling than anything else, as he couldn't really see _how_ people could 'attack his mind.' The very idea seemed nothing but surreal to him—but if Wu Sifu took it so seriously, Harry was determined to learn it.

"There are different techniques of learning Occlumency," Wu Sifu said during their second session. "My favorite combines the usual European technique with a few influences from the Far East."

"How does that work, Uncle Wu?" Harry asked.

"Because the mind is complex and multilayered, Harry, only those who are skilled can successfully read and influence thoughts and memories," Wu Sifu said. "The technique I am going to teach you uses seals—defenses placed strategically in difference locations in the mind." He gave a small smile. "The standard European technique involves one continuous shield that circumvents your entire mind. However, I consider this inefficient, as it is only one level of defense—and a weak one at that, since it has to protect your entire mind."

"So what do seals do?"

"I use two types of seals: strong blockades, and reflectors. A blockade is your standard shield. Over a low number of your mental layers, it is incredibly strong, but gets weaker the more layers you add to it."

"A defense that gets weaker the more it protects."

"Exactly."

"So what's a reflector?" Harry crossed his legs and leaned forward on his palms.

"A reflector is weak in the sense that it is easily broken. However, it's very effective against the average Legilimens, because when they—"

"Legilimens?"

Wu Sifu's brow furrowed. "Someone that can attack your mind. Sorry." He cleared his throat. "When a Legilimens attacks your mind, they send some of their presence into you. Think of it like a probe. Blockades can stop that probe, but reflectors are able to bounce them back into the Legilimens' mind."

Harry grinned. "Really?"

"Well... unfortunately, reflectors don't work on stronger Legilimens. They are trained enough to break through them. But they are very effective against the average Legilimens." Wu Sifu smiled. "I would advise using reflectors to protect the majority of your memories, while using blockades for particularly sensitive information—and also guarding your emotions."

"This sounds brilliant," Harry said eagerly. "How do I start?"

Wu Sifu crossed his legs. "Exercises. Meditation is key to building effective defenses. However," he said warningly, "it takes a great amount of time and effort to build your defenses. Reflectors can take up to five months to secure due to their complexity."

"That's okay," Harry said. "I've got time. There aren't any Legilimens after me right now, are there?"

Wu Sifu's gaze darkened, but then his usual calm mask fell over his face. "If there are, they shall have to get through me, first," he said amicably. "Now close your eyes, Harry. One deep breath. Then out. Good. Now imagine..."

::-::

The school year passed with little trouble. Harry was able to pull out top marks, somehow—fourth in his class. (Hermione Granger was, of course, first.) He grew stronger, faster, tougher... and his Occlumency was improving.

The first weeks were very difficult. Occlumency was a subtle art, and Harry had a hard time even consciously accessing his mind to "see the maze," as Wu Sifu put it. It was two weeks before he could even feel some slight presence when Wu Sifu sent a test probe. (To his credit, he only viewed memories that they shared—Christmas, and Harry's eighth birthday.)

As summer approached, however, Harry felt his mind getting stronger. When he closed his eyes, he could visualize the pathways of his mind—and he could even start constructing blockades, which were the simpler of the two seals. He chose to first protect the memory of green light, the possible memory of his parents' death: For some reason, that seemed like very important information, even though it was only half-complete.

For the first time in his life, Harry began to forget about the Dursleys.

He forgot about Petunia's screeching, about Vernon's roaring, about Dudley's bullying... In fact, some days he even forgot that they existed at all. The only time he remembered was when Wu Sifu brought him along on a grocery trip and they ran into the Dursleys at the same store. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon tried to ignore them, while Dudley tried to give Harry some verbal abuse—verbal abuse that was no longer effective, now that he was with Wu Sifu. Harry almost wished that Dudley had tried to pull a punch. He was aching for revenge after practicing Wing Chun for nearly a year.

As the summer rolled by, Harry found himself immersed in three things: practicing martial arts, practicing Occlumency, and spending time with Hermione Granger, his only true friend. Hermione, however, was not the brightest child in Little Whinging for nothing, and was called away to some sort of fancy academic summer camp on full scholarship for all of August.

For Harry's ninth birthday, Wu Sifu prepared a delicious dinner of herb-roasted chicken with rice. He also bought a creamy, refreshing beverage that reminded Harry of butterscotch. (But he never told Harry what exactly it was.)

This time, Hermione did not purchase a book, but a portable and durable drawstring sack for him to keep his money in. She also sent a few pounds to "contribute to your collection." Knowing that she had been coveting the just-released volume of _Leonardo Da Vinci: The Compleat Works of the Exemplary Rennaissance Man_, Harry decided to bust his budget a little and send that to her on her own birthday—September 19. Her reaction to his gift made the purchase more than worth it. (Even if he _had_ gotten rather strange looks at the bookstore.)

The new school year heralded nothing more for Harry but an increase of training. Wu Sifu seemed to note his growing enthusiasm for Occlumency and Wing Chun, and consequently pushed him to the limit. Harry was moved to the advanced class at the kwoon, where he found himself at a severe disadvantage due to his youth and lack of height. During this time, he realized that he couldn't rely on straight blocks, but was much faster and more agile than any of the other students in his class. At his request, Wu Sifu began sprinkling in some aikido into their training; Harry found that redirection was his best bet on blocking, especially when it came to kicks.

Their Occlumency sessions also grew in intensity. Harry could now feel Wu Sifu's presence in his mind as solidly as if it were tangible. He also found that his blockades were able to keep Wu Sifu away—to an extent. Obviously, Wu Sifu wasn't trying to break them, but Harry still felt a small sense of accomplishment. Harry also started to construct his first reflectors.

This Christmas was just as wonderful this year as it had been the last. They had the Grangers over for a delicious Christmas potluck; Harry ate until he felt like he could burst. Wu Sifu got Harry a book on the different techniques of Occlumency, which Harry found incredibly fascinating. (He planned on implementing some of these techniques secretly and surprise Wu Sifu during one of their sessions.) Hermione went back to buying him books—this one was an entire textbook on French, just because he had demonstrated some slight interest in the courses they offered at school. She refused to receive a gift in return, saying that the Da Vinci tome was a present good enough for two holidays. So did Wu Sifu, who said that children didn't usually buy presents for their guardian. (Harry didn't listen and got him some pretty rocks for their zen-room.)

Harry finished this school year with top marks as well. He found that the Occlumency exercises helped him to retain information better—especially when he began implementing memory seals, which were a specialized kind of seal described in the book Wu Sifu got him.

According to his book, the mind stored memories with one hundred percent accuracy. Anything consciously seen and heard was saved perfectly in the brain. However, the average human was unable to access and visualize these memories accurately, as they didn't have a handle on the presence of their own mind. Occlumens and Legilimens had a far easier time accessing these memories, since they were accustomed to seeing the layers of minds, foreign or familiar. In addition, special seals could be placed around these memories to not only protect them, but to prevent any changes accidentally made by their owner.

Harry found these particularly useful when learning new material in school.

It wasn't cheating, he told himself. Just a method of memorization. But he made sure not to mention his methods to Hermione Granger. She probably wouldn't hold the same opinion as him.

As Harry's tenth birthday approached, he began to hope that perhaps he wouldn't have to do anything with the Dursleys ever again. He hadn't seen them in a whole year—only heard about them, vaguely, from the local newspaper when it had an article on Grunnings once. Dudley didn't have the courage to approach the kwoon, and neither did any of his gang. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon didn't even try to check on him, which he found relieving more than anything else.

Maybe the Dursleys were out of his life for good.

But Harry began to notice something peculiar: Wu Sifu was, once again, spending an extraordinary amount of time in his office. This time, he was yelling for sure—and he didn't even seem keen on hiding it. Harry caught his name a few times, but whenever he crept toward the door, the shouting would suddenly stop—and not naturally at the end of a sentence, but in the middle of a word, like all sound had been blocked from the room. But this would only confuse Harry: No one was in the kwoon, and Wu Sifu's office was far from soundproof.

Harry should have known that these signs pointed to change.

Change that, this time, he didn't want.

::-::

It was the 23rd of June. Two years ago, Harry would have remembered (quite keenly) that it was Dudley's birthday. Now, the arrival of his aunt and uncle on the kwoon's doorstep was the only thing that reminded him.

Wu Sifu did not look happy to see them, but neither did he look surprised. He gave a long, long sigh, as if he'd been expecting their arrival, though he'd tried so very hard to fight against their coming, he no longer had the ability or the strength to continue that fight.

He invited them in and brewed some tea. Harry briefly wondered if he could poison it without them noticing, but then thought that would be an awful waste of tea. In the end, it didn't matter. Petunia and Vernon Dursley sat stiffly on the couch and didn't even touch their cups.

"What is your order of business?" Wu Sifu asked. He said this placidly, but there was a dark shadow under his eyes that seemed to frighten the Dursleys.

Petunia lifted her chin, but her hands were shaking. "We are here to take Harry home," she said, her voice rising an octave on Harry's name.

"Absolutely not," Wu Sifu said, and stood up. "Please leave the kwoon at once."

That response made Harry's heart jerk a little. He had never been more certain that he had finally found his place in life—a place where he was wanted, where, sometimes, he was _needed_, a place where he loved to be and would love to be his entire life.

At the kwoon.

Vernon Dursley's face turned purple-red. "You can't argue with us," he said, spittle flying from his lips. "We're his guardians."

"So am I. And I am arguing with you right now."

"Besides, I'm already at home," Harry piped up. Two years with Wu Sifu had given him confidence, wisdom, and a rather extensive knowledge of how to defend himself. He disliked the Dursleys, but he wasn't afraid of them.

Petunia shot Harry a withering glare that he met with equal ferocity.

"We can get our lawyers involved," Vernon continued, the muscles in his neck bulging. "You already know that the law is on our side, Long!"

"That doesn't mean you're in the right," Wu Sifu said. He opened the door of his office. "Go ahead. Get your lawyers. But I warn you now, Petunia and Vernon. Even if I am to lose..." His eyebrows furrowed into a terrifying glare. "I will not go down without a fight."

* * *

_****__**(This chapter has mainly been comprised of set-up. A bit dull to read, I realize, but it has to be done. Besides, we've got some fun parts coming up.)**_

_**(My sincere thanks to each and every one of you who have alerted, favorited, and reviewed.)**_

**C: The Grangers don't live in Little Whinging.**

A: Canonically speaking, no, they don't, at least not to my knowledge. This, however, is an alternate universe, and it seemed beneficial to the movement of the storyline for them to live in Little Whinging this story.

**Q: Why is Hermione so disrespectful? Why aren't her parents doing anything about it?**

Hermione's bossiness and bluntness is one of her biggest character flaws in canon. I have exaggerated this trait a bit in this story in hopes that it will provide for opportune character development as the story continues. As for her parents, well, I'm not trying to make them perfect. Parents make mistakes, parents can be too indulging or too strict, and parents are by no means perfect. There is also a wide range of parenting techniques. Perhaps a tight leash didn't work for Hermione. Perhaps her parents simply are learning as they go; Hermione is, I believe, their only child.**  
**

_**(Again, if you have any questions, critiques, or other comments, please shoot me a review. If you feel uncomfortable with having your question posted in this section, just let me know and I will answer you privately.)  
**_


	4. A New Rebel

_**(A/N: For those who have been wishing some payback against Dudley… Well, this chapter should make you happy. At least slightly.)**_

* * *

**HARRY POTTER and the ART of WING CHUN**

**4  
**_a new rebel_

The Dursleys won.

Ironically enough, the day where Wu Sifu was forcefully removed from his legal guardianship was Harry's tenth birthday.

Hermione Granger, who had been convinced that they would win, was seething at the news. The moment she heard about the outcome of the trial, she raced to the library and checked out every law book pertaining to the guardianship rules of children. She sought Harry out the next day, looking defeated.

"My… my parents were right," she mumbled. "They said that there was a good reason no one tried to help you."

"Why?" Since the Dursleys had won the trial, Harry had felt constant anger pulsating deep inside his gut. He managed to temporarily cure his violent urges by getting up early, sneaking out of his cupboard, and doing some heavy conditioning outside—but his time with Wu Sifu had begun to turn him rebellious against the relatives he once obeyed without question.

"The Children's Act—the one Wu Sifu was studying—the one of 1986." Harry had never seen Hermione look so downcast before; perhaps it was because one of her beloved books had failed her for the first time in her life. "Part five, Section 44: 'Where any person applies to the court for an order to be made under this section with respect to a child, the court may make an order if, but only if, it is satisfied that: a) there is reasonable cause to believe that the child is likely to suffer significant harm if: 1) he is not removed to the accommodation provided by or on behalf of the applicant; or 2) he does not remain in the place in which he is then being accommodated.'"

Harry blinked.

And blinked again.

"English, 'Mione?" he prompted.

Hermione pursed her lips. "Harry, has your uncle ever hit you?" she asked very seriously.

Harry frowned. "No, but I reckon he's come close to it."

"That's the problem," Hermione said, giving a very big sigh. "_Technically_ we can't forcibly move you away from the Dursleys, because you're not likely to 'suffer significant harm.' _Technically_ they aren't starving you, dehydrating you, throwing you out on the street… and _technically_ sticking you in a cupboard isn't child abuse." She pursed her lips again. "I can't believe I'd ever see the day where the law is not on my side!"

"That's because you've never tried to defend _me_, 'Mione," Harry said. Significant harm? Maybe he could argue that he was suffering significant harm on his _emotions_. Or, or maybe he could _make_ himself likely to suffer significant—

Then it hit him.

"Hermione," he whispered. "Hermione, I think I have it!"

Hermione frowned. "Have what?"

"I know how to get out of the Dursley's house!" Harry said, jumping to his feet. "I just have to get Uncle Vernon to hit me, right?"

Hermione's eyes widened. "H-hit… _Harry_! You are doing _no_ such thing!"

"But it'll solve everything," Harry said, feeling rather wounded.

Hermione shook her head violently. "Not if they have a lawyer that knows what they're doing," she said quite hurriedly. "The Dursleys could argue using the 'discipline' clause. If they see you as 'misbehaving' then they could _technically_…" She saw Harry's face darken as he dropped back down.

"Reckon I could just run away?" he mumbled.

Hermione gave a long sigh. "It does make me wonder," she said, staring up at the cloudless sky. "Why are they keeping you, anyway? Don't they hate you?"

Harry had wondered this many times himself. What would make the Dursleys keep him at their house—keep him with _Dudley_—when they could just hand him over to Wu Sifu?

"I don't know," he said, "but I wish they would kick me out already."

Hermione drew her knees to her chest. "Everything would be in your favor if you're likely to 'suffer significant harm'… And there _is_ part three, provision of accommodation for children, Section 20: Before providing accommodation under this section, a local authority shall, so far as is reasonably practical and consistent with the child's welfare: a) ascertain the child's wishes and feelings…" At Harry's confused look: "That means that the government will ask you where you want to go if you're going to leave."

"Can't we use that?" Harry asked eagerly.

"I don't think it's a strong enough argument by itself," Hermione mused.

They fell into silence—Harry's brooding, Hermione's introspective.

"Reckon I could just run away?" Harry repeated.

::-::

Shortly after the school term began, Harry was forbidden from seeing either Hermione or Wu Sifu.

"They are poor influences," Petunia (Harry didn't consider her his aunt anymore, not after Uncle Wu) said in that awfully stuffy way of hers. "I don't want them anywhere near my Duddy-dums."

Harry pointed out that they never even came by number four, Privet Drive, but Petunia refused to listen. Harry had the feeling that she had only made this rule because Dudley didn't like the thought of _Harry_ having _friends_.

Multiple times throughout the months that followed, Harry seriously considered running away from home. The lock on his cupboard door was easily picked—given the right tools, of course, which Hermione had snuck him through his birthday gift (disguised as a package for a homework assignment). He wouldn't have to bring much, either; as usual, the Dursleys never gave him any more than what was necessary.

Harry's newfound confidence from Wu Sifu was beginning to get him into trouble. He was no longer afraid to speak his mind and disobey the his relatives' excessive demands. Oh, he would agree to do the dishes and maybe cook some meals—but when Petunia stuck him outside to pull weeds, he simply started exercising. When Vernon locked him in his cupboard as punishment, Harry poured himself into studying Occlumency.

He was getting better at Occlumency; he knew it. Blockades, he learned, although stronger and simpler, took active energy to sustain, especially when under attack. Reflectors, on the other hand, were completely finished once they were constructed. No other energy had to be put into them—not even maintenance.

That was probably why Wu Sifu advised using few blockades.

Harry also began learning about another kind of seal: Trap seals. Trap seals were constructed in between layers of the mind—along the 'pathways,' as some might call them. They activated when they sensed a probe and would attack the probe until it withdrew from the mind. After these sorts of 'battles,' trap seals had to be 'fixed.'

Harry started constructing a few around his memory of the green light. It seemed like such a precious memory, although he wasn't quite sure why.

::-::

Dudley finally gathered his courage when the Christmas hols rolled around.

He had been quite cautious around Harry—something Harry found quite unsettling. Harry suspected it was because he had spent two years at the kwoon, and also because his lanky frame had filled slightly with wiry muscle.

Christmas, though, meant presents; and presents meant a happy Dudley; and a happy Dudley meant an arrogant Dudley; and an arrogant Dudley meant a bullying session.

The moment Harry went upstairs and saw that he was cornered by Dudley's game, he knew that it was showtime.

_But I haven't been doing kung fu for two and a half years for nothing, Duddy-boy. Bring it on._

Dudley saw the challenging look in Harry's eye and didn't seem to like it. He didn't even say a single insult—he went straight to blows.

His first blow was just as Harry expected: A wide, clumsy side hook that was easily dodged with a simple step back.

Harry grinned and shook a single finger, clicking his tongue against his teeth.

"Aww, Dudley," he simpered. "Surely you can do better than that?"

Dudley's face twisted in anger. He pulled his right fist back and snapped it forward in a predictable front punch—_incorrectly_, Harry noticed; he could wrench this thumb holding his fist like that. Harry shifted left and guided Dudley's fist away with lop sau, then slapped Dudley right in the face with his other hand.

He was so getting into trouble for this, but he didn't care. At long last, he was able to defend himself. (And yes, perhaps slapping wasn't particularly in the Wing Chun curriculum, but he'd always wanted to try it.)

Dudley flailed his other fist. _Bong sau. Wrap. Palm in the chest, back-hand slap in the face._

Dudley thrust his leg upward in a sad attempt at a kick. _Shift right. Redirect. Knee in the thigh, slap in the face._

Dudley shoved his elbow forward. _Shift left. Redirect. Hit twice at exposed shoulder and underarm. Slap in the face._

Harry had never felt so… so _powerful_ before. (Granted, he wasn't actually sticking too closely to the proper Wing Chun that Wu Sifu had taught him… but Dudley was hardly the toughest opponent he'd faced.)

Dudley staggered backward, pain and rage intermingled on his fat face. "What are you doing?" he spluttered at the rest of his gang, who were watching the fight with their jaws on the floor. "Hit him!"

Harry was thankful that he had a corner of the wall behind him. Although it restricted the space he was able to use, it protected him from being surrounded.

Piers lunged first; he was the most loyal to Dudley, after all. He tried punching at Harry's stomach. Harry only sidestepped and swept his ankles, which were precariously off-balance. Piers crumpled to the floor.

Dennis came next. Harry could already tell that he was much more cautious than Piers. He started a calculated roundhouse kick—taekwondo, Harry thought—but Dennis was obviously a beginner. He took too much time raising his knee; Harry was able to snap his arm around Dennis's knee joint and pull his body weight upwards, simultaneously striking Dennis in the jaw with the heel of his hand. Dennis jerked over and landed flat on his back.

Gordon and Malcolm were a little smarter. They both attacked at once, trying to pincer Harry from the sides. Harry wasn't sure that he could take them down; they were bigger and stronger than him.

Then again, he had two and a half years of intense conditioning and training. Gordon and Malcolm did not.

Malcolm grappled at the front of Harry's shirt. Harry almost laughed aloud. _Grabbing the front of someone's shirt? That's probably one of the _worst_ things you could do in a fight._

According to standard Wing Chun, Harry could simply sock Malcolm in the face and not do anything about the grapple; but Harry wanted to have a little fun with this move. He shifted his weight and dug his arm around Malcolm's elbow hinge, then pulled back. Malcolm was captured in a very, _very_ painful elbow lock and was driven to the ground—right at Gordon's feet. Gordon promptly tripped over him and planted face-first on the ground.

When Harry looked up, he saw—with no dearth of satisfaction—that for the first time in his life, Dudley was looking at him with _fear_ in his eyes.

"I-I-I'm t-t-telling on you!" he spluttered, backing away.

Harry shrugged. "Go ahead," he said, echoing his words from two and a half years ago. "You always do anyway."

But this time, those words were said with much more satisfaction than before.

::-::

Harry was grounded.

He was so grounded that he couldn't even attend school. He got absent notices, but Petunia and Vernon ignored them. He got warnings, but Petunia and Vernon ignored him. He got parent-teacher conference summons, and Petunia and Vernon lashed out at him.

"The nerve!" Petunia hissed. "You went and got yourself a parent-teacher conference summon?!"

"INTO YOUR CUPBOARD!" Vernon bellowed, though Harry hadn't even taken one step out.

Harry had to bite his tongue very hard to stop from lashing out. _Whose_ problem was it that he had gotten the summons? Yes; the very people who were blaming him.

Harry wanted to go back to Wu Sifu—_now_.

But Spring Break rolled around, and there was no sign of neither Sifu nor Hermione. Harry heard that they'd tried to get to him, but letters were intercepted, windows were barred, and doors were shut. (Perhaps he could use that in the court case...)

Spring was the only time where Harry was let out of his cupboard—only to be put under the supervision of Mrs. Figg, who tried to show him every cat she'd ever owned. Harry bore with these sessions because Mrs. Figg allowed him to see Wu Sifu and Hermione secretly. As long as he promised to be back by a certain time, he was free to go wherever he pleased.

Wu Sifu greeted him with a warm dinner and a ready conversation. He told Harry that he was trying his best to investigate the law however he could; he asked Harry if he was doing alright, if Petunia and Vernon weren't starving him; and when they settled down for an Occlumency session, Wu Sifu was flabbergasted by how much Harry had improved. (Long periods spent in the cupboard meant a lot of studying for Occlumency.)

When Harry told him that he wanted more books to study, Wu Sifu instantly whisked him to the bookstore and bought him five books: one on taekwondo; one on ninjutsu; one on aikido; and two more books on Occlumency. One of the books focused on techniques used in America, while the other focused on techniques used in East Asia.

"But Harry, why do you want so many books?" Wu Sifu asked.

"I sort of, er, spend a bit of time in the cupboards," Harry admitted sheepishly. "Vernon locks me in there when I misbehave." _Which I've been doing a lot of,_ Harry added mentally.

Wu Sifu's face darkened. "Harry Potter, if it is the last thing I do, I shall get you out of that horrible place," he swore, and bought Harry a book on a more brutal form of self-defense: Krav Maga.

Harry couldn't wait to misbehave. He was going to have a lot of fun in his cupboard.

::-::

When the Dursleys returned from vacation, Harry found himself getting put into his cupboard much more often than before. He hadn't done anything outright rebellious quite yet—but his passive-aggressive defenses were bothering the Dursleys plenty.

During this time, Harry began to grow rather fond of his cupboard. His cupboard meant privacy. His cupboard meant, in some ways, security. And his cupboard meant _no chores_.

Since Harry was forbidden from going to school (lest he _corrupt_ all the children there, according to the Dursleys) he poured himself into his books. He learned the American Occlumency technique of protecting memories with _two_ layers of seals—and instantly began constructing reflectors on the outside, blockades on the inside. He found that ninjustsu was his favorite style of martial arts—second to Wing Chun, of course. (Krav Maga, on the other hand, made him feel a bit sick because of its brutality.)

Harry also began studying Hermione's late Christmas present: A self-defense book that talked about using one's surroundings to their advantage. It was very intriguing, since it had little to do with martial arts and more to do with creativity.

As Dudley's eleventh birthday approached, Harry also began to compile a list of offenses with the Dursleys. Now that they were withholding him from mandatory education, he suspected that he'd be able to bring them to the law—and bringing a long list of other (more minor) misdemeanors wouldn't hurt his case.

_Excessive labor, confined living space, verbal abuse, encouragement of suicidal mannerisms…_

Harry didn't completely know what he was writing, but the words that came from the thesaurus sounded fancy enough for court. He'd get Hermione to proofread his list before he submitted it. Hermione, _and_ Wu Sifu.

When Dudley's eleventh birthday came, Harry was prepared for the usual. Petunia waking him up; Petunia telling him not to burn the breakfast; Dudley complaining over the quantity of his presents; Petunia promising him more; Vernon applauding Dudley for his ambition; and every Dursley nagging at him before they dropped him off at Mrs. Figg's.

Everything went as Harry expected—well, except Mrs. Figg wasn't available. She'd broken her leg. A few years ago, Harry might have seen this as a wonderful opportunity, but now he only felt disappointment. When he stayed with Mrs. Figg, he could see Wu Sifu and Hermione. Now he was forced to be with the Dursleys.

Thankfully, Vernon was naïve enough to let Harry stay in the house—locked in his cupboard, of course.

"I'm warning you, boy," he hissed. "One funny move—if we come back and we don't find the house _exactly_ the way it was—you'll be sorry!"

And the Dursleys piled into their car with Piers and drove away to the zoo.

Harry picked the lock in five seconds. He was getting rather good at it, given how many times Vernon tossed him in his cupboard. He knew he wouldn't be able to sneak outside; the neighbors would be watching. He did, however, condition himself in the lengthy hallway upstairs. Stretching, running, push-ups, sit-ups, squats, jumping jacks—whatever exercise Harry thought of, he did.

Because tonight—tonight, he'd escape from the Dursleys. And no one would stop him. Not even Vernon, who was thrice his size.

He made sure he was back in his cupboard long before the Dursleys arrived. They were in high spirits—especially Dudley, who had received four more presents on their outing. Harry thought they had forgotten about him until Petunia ordered him to make supper.

_Specifications on excessive labor: regular preparation of meals, daily dish cleaning, bi-weekly weeding in weather that makes the Applicant subject to heat exhaustion…_

Harry was half-inclined to grind up the laxatives Petunia kept in the bathroom drawer and sprinkle them into the meal, but he decided against it. He was going to be gone from this place by tonight anyway.

The moment he was finished with supper, Harry retreated to his cupboard and worked on Occlumency until nightfall. The Dursleys seemed too preoccupied with Dudley to notice his compliant behavior; any other day of the year, Vernon would be suspicious. This day, he was so oblivious that he went to bed without even checking the lock on Harry's door. (It was perfectly functional, if a little dented from all the picking Harry had done.)

Harry waited until midnight before he made his move. He tossed his books and moneybag into his well-worn backpack and, for what he hoped would be the last time in his life, picked the lock of his cupboard door.

Number four, Privet Drive was oddly quiet at this hour. It was almost completely dark in the hallway—the closest window was in the sitting-room—and there was no yelling Vernon, screeching Petunia, or raging Dudley. Harry found that he almost liked the house when it was quiet like this; Petunia did know how to decorate a house, after all, with lovely colour schemes and bright photographs hammered strategically over the walls. (There wasn't a single picture of Harry, but Harry liked it better that way.)

Harry slinked down the hallway, taking extra pains not to knock anything over. Thankfully, the Dursleys didn't have an alarm, so he could sneak right out the front door.

Harry deposited his backpack by the door and twisted the lock. He chanced one more glance behind him: No one in sight. Taking a deep breath, he flung the door open and stepped into the heavy night air.

Right onto an envelope that gave a loud _crack_.

Harry froze and whipped around, snatching up his backpack. No sign of the Dursleys. Breathing through his nose, Harry slipped off the entry mat and closed the door behind him, staring down at the envelope.

It was addressed… to _him_.

**Mr. H. Potter**  
The Cupboard under the Stairs  
4 Privet Drive  
Little Whinging  
Surrey

Harry stooped down and cradled the envelope between his fingers. He glanced back at the house. All was silent.

"Harry."

Harry jerked backwards, stifling a scream—but it was only Wu Sifu, who looked more surprised than anything else.

"Uncle Wu," he said in a small voice. "Why are you here?"

Wu Sifu held up a set of papers, a small grin lighting his face.

"You're free, Harry."

The envelope slipped from Harry's fingers. Wu Sifu's eyes shifted as he watched it fall.

"Oh, and you're a wizard."

* * *

_**('They have taken the text box below. They are awaiting moderation, but they cannot be held for long. The Internet shakes. Beeps… beeps in the deep. I cannot get out. They are coming.' The hate mail from sticking Harry back in with the Dursleys, that is. Well, sort of sticking him back.)**_

_**(I am incredibly honored at the response this story has received. My thanks to each and every one of you.)**_

**Q: The letter came too early!**

A: Yes, I noticed.

_**(On a side note, I've started **_creating an iBook version _**of this story. I have a question: Would you prefer for me to wait until I've finished **_**The Philosopher's Stone**_** before I post it? Or would you rather see it chapter-by-chapter and just update it along with me?)**_


	5. Diagon Alley

**_(A/N: Yes, I know this took forever. But! Contrary to usual circumstances, I actually have an excuse. College and scholarship applications, schoolwork, orchestra and dance… Well, at least this chapter (and the ones that are to follow) is longer than usual. I had immense writer's block for the longest time, but I hope to be back in business._**

**_I've always seen the Dursleys as more obnoxious than dangerous, and among the Dursleys, I've always seen Petunia as the most sane.)_**

* * *

**HARRY POTTER and the ART of WING CHUN**

**5**  
_diagon alley_

Petunia Dursley of number four, Privet Drive, was having a rather excellent day.

It began with news from Mrs. Peyton, who got it from Mrs. Hackett, who got it from Mrs. Daubney, who got it from Mrs. Winterbottom, who heard it in a cafe opposite the radio that was undergoing maintenance. Duddy-dums's school had gotten a grant—a rather sizable one, too—and that meant she and Vernon could save quite a healthy sum of quid. Rather excellent, or so Petunia Dursley reckoned.

Oh—then there was the wonderful fact that Potters' boy hadn't made a single ruckus and was obediently waiting in his cupboard.

Oh, yes, it was an excellent day.

Petunia chose to indulge in a measure of chocolate as celebration. Chocolate was very popular in the Dursley household, especially with Dudley. The only downside was that the Potter boy loved to steal Dudley's share. Why, it happened _every bloody time_ Petunia tried to make chocolate! (Petunia never witnessed such an event personally, but her Duddy-dums would never lie to her.) So in the cupboard went Harry, and Petunia would have to whip up another batch. What an ungrateful whelp!

Ah, yes—that had been an item on her to-do list for some time. Figure out what exactly to do with the Potter boy. He was getting unbearable—honestly! Spending time in his cupboard no longer seemed to be apt punishment. When he was younger, she could hear him crying, which was a good sign; but now, whenever she let him out of the cupboard, he would grin. In fact, more often than not, if she didn't need him to leave his cupboard, he'd stay inside.

That was just outright defiant.

Yet as much as Petunia Dursley would love to slap the Potter boy silly, she knew better than to lay a single finger on him. One bruise from her or her husband, and then _they_ would come, with their awful clothes and their awful accent and their awful words—just thinking about it made Petunia shiver down to the soles of her shoes. Dudley seemed to be the only exception to this rule; Petunia had briefly seen Dudley's gang playing rather rough with Harry, and they never got into any trouble with—with _Lily's folk_.

When times had gotten desperate, when the Potter boy had truly been beyond redemption, Petunia and Vernon had agreed to sic Dudley on him—just to help him come to his senses.

But Dudley had come back as a sobbing mess.

"Duddy-dums!" she'd screamed upon sight of his blotchy, bruised face. "What on earth...!"

"Harry's gotten weird!" her little popkin had blubbered. "He—he took on Gordon, AND Dennis, AND Malcom and Piers and—and ME."

"We must get you to the hospital immediately," Petunia had fretted, and sent Vernon to cart their young charge off to the local doctor.

When Petunia'd summoned the Potter boy, determined to force some sense into him, she'd been astounded to see a radical change in behavior. No longer was this the meek and mild boy she had seen for eight or nine years; this was a rebel with an iron will and a revolutionary spirit. Her direst threats had seemed to have no effect on him whatsoever.

"If you lay another finger on Dudley, boy, I'll be certain to leave you on the streets!" she'd hissed.

The Potter boy only had raised his eyebrows. "You really mean that?" he'd asked with a mocking air of excitement.

Petunia'd changed her line of attack. "If your parents only knew what you'd become," she'd said in stark disapproval, shaking her head with one long sigh. "Perhaps that is the reason why they died; at least they wouldn't have to deal with such a selfish brat."

In the past, the Potter boy would have been subdued, eyes brightening with unshed tears, eventually bowing his head and plodding toward his cupboard. But this was not that Potter boy. This was an alien and unfamiliar Potter boy, who'd examined her closely, eyebrows drawn in concentration, and then gave her a condescending smirk, and said:

"Stop lying to me, Petunia Dursley. I know what my parents thought of me, and I know that _I'm_ not the selfish brat in the room."

She'd swung her hand to slap him. He'd blocked it without flinching.

"I will not take your abuse any longer," he'd said—coolly, levelly, like an adult. "As I am still technically a member of the household, I will do my part and help occasionally with the household chores. But if you choose to starve me or discipline me on just those conditions, I will not hesitate to take legal action. I am no longer your slave, Petunia Dursley, and I will not be treated as such." And he had left the room calmly and confidently.

If Petunia was truly, absolutely honest with herself, she would admit that she'd been the tiniest, teensiest bit impressed at how clever and how mature Harry—the Potter boy—was. Sometimes she found herself wishing that Dudley could be half as—but those were evil, despicable thoughts, and she wouldn't allow herself to have them any longer.

But—back to this morning. It was a fine morning, a very fine morning, and Petunia was certain that nothing would ruin it. Besides, she had an idea with what to do about Ha—the Potter boy. They'd just kick him out. For good. And if _Lily's folk_ came knocking at their doorstep, she could merely say that he'd endangered the life of her beloved son. Well! why hadn't she thought of such a brilliant excuse before?

Yet when Petunia opened the cupboard door and found it completely empty of all signs of Harry, the only thing she felt was her throat fall to the pit of her stomach.

He couldn't have left. It wasn't possible. He was Harry Potter. He was timid, shy, a follower. He was The Boy Who Lived, invaluable to the wizarding community, and, oh, blimey, her family's heads were on the line—

She frantically stumbled to the kitchen and twirled the dial of the telephone, screeching: "Duddy! Duddy, have you seen Harry?!"

"Shut up, Mom!" Dudley screeched back. "I'm in the middle of a race!"

On his video games, again. Why couldn't he be more useful, like Ha—but oh, what a silly, wicked thought that was.

"Surrey Police," came a droll voice from over the phone. "Please state the nature of your predicament."

"I would like to report a kidnapping in Little Whinging," Petunia said shakily, feeling her hands wringing. Oh, what would the neighbors say!

The policeman paused. "A kidnapping?" he asked, his tone brightening at the prospect of something interesting happening in Surrey.

"Yes," Petunia said. "My—nephew, he's been—well, he's disappeared."

A pause on the line. "Did you check—"

"I assure you that I am not dull-witted," Petunia said sharply, feeling the infamous Evans temper welling up. "I would not be calling the police unless I was certain that this is a matter of utmost importance!"

"Name and address?" the policeman continued briskly.

Petunia gave it to him. When she hung up several minutes later, she immediately bolted all the doors and windows. If _Lily's folk_ came looking for a fight, she'd give them one.

Then the phone rang.

She answered it apprehensively, one lanky hand gripping the handle so tight that her knuckles blanched white. "Hello?"

"Hello. Is this the Dursley residence?"

"Yes," Petunia said tightly. "Who is this?"

"This is Smeltings Academy."

Petunia instantly relaxed. It wasn't _Lily's folk_.

This could still be a good day.

"Thank you for applying for the Smeltings Academy Scholarship. We regret to inform you that your son, Mr. Dudley Dursley, is not eligible at this time…"

It was a horrible day.

::-::

Meanwhile, far away from the Dursleys—far away from Muggles—Harry Potter was strolling down the battered cobblestone of Diagon Alley, wide, green eyes drinking up the fantastical sights and sounds of his first encounter with the Wizarding World.

"This has been under my nose this entire time, and I didn't even know?" he mumbled, tugging on Wu Sifu's sleeve like a child at a candy store.

Wu Sifu smiled. "Quite a sight, isn't it?" he said.

"Yes," Harry said. "Wish I'd known about all this earlier."

Wu Sifu's face darkened. "I'm sorry, Harry. It took a bit of… _manoeuvring_ to extract you from the Dursley household."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Manoeuvring?" he repeated.

"Well, I didn't strictly speaking follow the _Muggle_ law," Wu Sifu said. At Harry's questioning glance—"We call the nonwizarding folk Muggles."

"Oh, I wasn't curious about _that_," Harry said. "I was wondering how you managed to get me if you weren't using, er, the law."

"I _did_ use the law," Wu Sifu said wisely. "It just so happened to be the _Wizarding _Law."

Harry's mouth froze in the shape of a perfect 'o.' "So, where exactly does that leave me?"

"For all the Muggles are concerned, Petunia and Vernon are still your legal guardians," he said. "However, in the Wizarding World, they no longer have any power over your assets or your legal functions."

"Meaning?"

"You're free," Wu Sifu said, mockingly cross.

"Oh. You could've just said that," Harry teased.

"Haha, yes. Now choose a store."

Harry pointed to the bookstore, unable to forget that lengthy tomes had been his only companions during his numerous banishments into the cupboard. He felt something in his chest give a painful twang as he realized he'd never said goodbye to Hermione Granger, more of a bookworm than himself.

"Uncle Wu?"

"Yes, Harry?"

"How's Hermione doing?"

Wu Sifu smiled. "Why, I'd imagine you'll be seeing her quite soon," he said mysteriously, ruffling Harry's hair.

Harry grinned. "Really?"

"Duty first, son," Wu Sifu teased. "Let's get your shopping done." He pointed at a looming snowy-white building. "To the bank!"

::-::

Gringotts Bank was intimidating to many wizards, as it was run by goblins—but to Harry, it was nothing but fascinating. The raw efficiency with which the goblins handled their workspaces entranced him. Although he noticed that many of them eyed their wizarding clients with clear disrespect, they gave nods of acknowledgment in Wu Sifu's direction as they passed by. When he pointed this out to Wu Sifu, the explanation was vague.

"Give courtesy and respect to whom it is due, and you shall go a long way," he said.

From the corner of his eye, Harry noted the condescending manner with which a wizard was treating a goblin. Horrified, he watched as the wizard kicked angrily at his teller, yelling something that sounded very crude.

"You can't mean—wizards usually treat goblins like _that_?" he whispered.

"Goblins are not seen as anything more than slaves in the wizarding world," Wu Sifu said, his face grave.

"Why don't they _do _anything about it?" Harry demanded.

"The wizards decide who keeps legal power," Wu Sifu said. "Why would they ever give it to those other than themselves?"

"But _you_ can help, can't you, Uncle Wu?" Harry pleaded as the wizard gave the goblin another vicious blow. "We can defend them!"

Wu Sifu stared at the scene before him, his expression unreadable, calm aura turning stormy. "Can we?" he murmured, and continued on to an available teller.

Harry glanced back, watching the wizard storm out of Gringotts, cursing up a storm. "Why don't the goblins just refuse him service?" he said.

"They don't have the power to do so," Wu Sifu said. "He might, however, close his account and move to a wizard-operated bank. They're less secure, but—well, operated by wizards."

"This is barmy," Harry said. "It's just downright wrong."

"It is," Wu Sifu said. "But Harry, if anyone were to be able to fix it, it would be you."

Harry almost asked him what he meant by that, but they'd just reached a teller, and Wu Sifu was deep in conversation with the goblin. He wasn't speaking the Queen's English, but a series of guttural noises that sounded like—

"You speak _Goblin_, Uncle Wu?"

"I picked up a little, Harry," Wu Sifu said, and continued speaking, retrieving a key from his robes and handing it to the goblin. The goblin growled and snarled for a bit, Wu Sifu growled and snarled back, and in a minute the teller was growling and snarling at a goblin across the marble hall, who came forth, growling and snarling.

"Um—excuse me a bit," Harry said, "but—did my parents have a bank account?"

The teller examined him, then growled and snarled at Wu Sifu, who growled and snarled back. "They do," the teller said.

"I'd like to see it," Harry said. "If—if that's alright, of course."

"You needn't, Harry," Wu Sifu said. "I am your guardian. Don't feel compelled to pay for yourself."

"Well, I'll consider it as spending money, then," Harry said.

Wu Sifu eyed him with mock suspicion before fetching another key from his robes. "The Potters' Vault, if you please," he said.

::-::

A few dizzying minutes later, Wu Sifu and Harry were out of Gringotts, wallets laden with galleons. Harry instantly headed toward Flourish and Blotts Bookseller.

"You've become quite the little bookworm, haven't you?" Wu Sifu teased.

"Well, it beats doing nothing in my cupboard," Harry said, selecting a tome on Germanic Occlumency techniques, designed to withstand even the most brutal Legilimency assaults. He thumbed through the pages, and, satisfied with his preview, handed the book to Wu Sifu for approval.

"I still can't believe that can't be considered child abuse," Wu Sifu muttered, tossing the book into their levitating basket without a second glance. "Keeping children in cupboards? Honestly."

Harry grinned. _That sounded just like Hermione Granger._ He handed Wu Sifu a book on jujutsu and a book on general kung fu. This time, Wu Sifu actually looked through the books before dropping them in the basket.

"I should teach you Legilimancy," he huffed. "Perhaps you could teach that aunt and uncle of yours a few lessons."

Harry paused. "Um… Uncle Wu?"

Wu Sifu stared. "You don't mean to say—"

"It was more of an accident than anything," Harry said. "I mean, Petunia was going on about how my parents would be disappointed in me, so I tried to see if it was the truth, and suddenly I was seeing things—"

"Harry!" Wu Sifu said.

"I mean, I only saw them through the mind of a baby, so—but I could see that they really loved me—but—I'm sorry—"

"Do you realize how much talent that takes?" Wu Sifu interrupted brightly. "Learning Legilimancy without a teacher? James and Lily would be thrilled!"

"You—know my parents?" Harry said.

Wu Sifu suddenly quieted, his expression passive. "It's quite a story," he mumbled. "Perhaps later."

Harry wanted nothing more than to learn about his parents, but he obediently turned back to the shelves and picked out a book titled _Urawaza: 101 Unorthodox But Effective Spells from Japan_. "Uncle Wu," he said, "can you recommend any good spellbooks?"

"Certainly," Wu Sifu said. "Let's see—Well, you've got _The Standard Book of Spells_ on your textbook list, but that is probably the driest series I've ever had the misfortune of reading—oh, here we are. _The Advanced Spellbook, Platinum Edition_. This was my favorite book during fourth year; you needn't feel inclined to read it yet. _Fifty Ways to Make Them Pay Without Money_. Use this on Dudley or Voldemort, I don't care which. _Wand Theory_ by Sensei Shimizu. A bit dry, but foundation is very im—"

"Who's Voldemort?" Harry asked, quite loudly. The browsing wizarding family next to him immediately backed away, exchanging horrified glances. Harry lowered his voice. "Who's Voldemort?"

"Oh, just a ruddy old codger," Wu Sifu said, glancing at Harry's textbook list with distaste before tossing in all the required books. Then he paused. "You don't know who Voldemort is?"

"Well, if I did, I wouldn't ask."

"True, but—your aunt and uncle didn't—oh, pardon. It's the Dursleys we're talking about." He glanced around the bookstore, noticing how their aisle was suspiciously vacant. "I'll have to tell you later. Along with the story about your parents."

Harry nodded reluctantly. He purchased a book on _The Arte of Nonverbal Magic_ before they left the shop.

::-::

Madame Malkin's Robes for All Occasions was next. Wu Sifu excused himself to visit the Owl Emporium, saying he needed to 'catch up with the shopkeeper,' but Harry had the feeling that Wu might actually be getting him a present. He decided not to make a fuss about it either way and let Madame Malkin lead him to a footstool to be fitted.

On the stool next to him stood a boy his age, round-faced, with black hair rumpled very strangely on his head, as if someone had tried to tame it with a bit too much gel and failed.

"Hello," Harry said, trying to sound as friendly as possible.

The boy glanced around, then started. "Oh! Sorry. Are you—talking to me?"

"Well, erm, yes." Harry decided not to point out that there was no one else in the shop—except for the fitting witches, of course. "Lovely day, isn't it?"

"I—s'pose." The boy shuffled his feet. "How do you do?"

"I'm alright. How 'bout you?"

"A bit itchy. Gran paid for some fancy robes, so it's taking awhile."

"Am I supposed to get fancy robes?" Harry asked.

"Why—I don't reckon so. It's just Gran being Gran. Say, I'm Neville Longbottom. What's your name?"

"Harry Potter," Harry said. "I'd shake your hand, but—well, I'm in a bit of a fix."

"Oh, you needn't worry—Half a mo'! Your name is Harry Potter?"

"Well, yes."

"Are you _Harry Potter_ Harry Potter?"

Harry glanced at Madame Malkin, who gave no reaction and continued pinning his robes. "Um, yes, that's my name?"

"Well—never mind then," Neville said abashedly. "I ought to know better than to pry."

"No, it's alright," Harry said. "I just don't know what you mean."

Neville shuffled. "The—the Boy Who Lived," he said. "The one who vanquished You-Know-Who."

Harry was about to ask _who?_ when Madame Malkin suddenly patted him on the shoulder, saying, "That's you done, my dear," and hustled him away to the front counter where he paid for his newly sewn robes with money Wu Sifu had given him.

Feeling quite sorry for Neville, Harry left Madame Malkin's and stopped by various other shops to purchase his other school supplies. He met Wu Sifu at Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour, whereupon he saw a very familiar face.

"Hermione!" he cried, grinning so widely he thought his head might split open.

Hermione Granger launched herself into his arms, squeezing him with a strength that betrayed her size. "Harry!" she said. "Ohh, Harry, it's been _so_ long! Have you been eating enough? You look positively _emaciated_!"

Harry decided not to ask what 'emaciated' meant and instead patted the top of her head comfortingly. "I'm all right," he said. "Doing much better, actually, now that Petunia and Vernon don't badger me any more."

"I _do_ wish we could've acted sooner," Hermione said sorrowfully. "But—fancy this! We're both magic folk, aren't we?"

"Reckon so," Harry said. "When'd you get your letter?"

"Just two days ago or so," Hermione said. "I've started learning the course books by heart, but isn't there ever so much to learn, I don't know if I'll be ready in time! You _do_ have your texts, don't you?"

Harry dumped him bag ungracefully on the parlour table. "Right here. But I haven't the faintest what most of them are talking about."

"Oh, you _do_ know that you're in the history book, don't you?" Hermione chattered excitedly. "You're _famous_, Harry! There was this awful man—the most powerful Dark Wizard of all time—named Voldemort, and _no one_ could even come _close_ to defeating him, but you did, as a little _baby_."

"Hang on. _What_ did you say?" Harry said. Although the question was directed to Hermione, his head whipped around to stare at Wu Sifu.

Wu Sifu shot a glare at Hermione, mouthing a not-very-inconspicuous _I was trying to ease the lad in_.

_Whatever for?_ Hermione mouthed back. _Isn't it better that he learns everything at once?_

_If you want him to faint in shock, certainly._

_Harry doesn't faint. He punches. Besides, _I _handled it quite fine._

_You _screamed_. And damaged my rather fine eardrums in the process, I might add._

"You _do_ know that I can understand everything you're saying," Harry said.

Wu Sifu and Hermione promptly stopped, shooting mocking glares at each other. Then Wu Sifu placed his spoon down, stared awkwardly at his half-completed ice cream, and began to unwind a long, long tale before Harry Potter starting many, many years ago with a boy named James and a girl named Lily.

* * *

**_(Finally approaching the part that's actually interesting.)_**

**Q: Why didn't Wu Sifu defend the goblin? He's got superspecialawesome powers!**

A: Just think for one second of the possible repercussions. Is it better to benefit one goblin, or risk the existence of his whole race?

**Q: How did Wu Sifu get the key to the Potters' vault?**

A: Probably how Hagrid got it. From Dumbledore?

**Q: Why didn't Harry run into Draco Malfoy?**

A: Harry went to Flourish and Blotts before he went to Madame Malkin's, thus avoiding Draco Malfoy.

**Q: No Hagrid?**

A: My first draft was with Hagrid as Harry's guide, like the canon plot in the books. However, no matter how many ways I tried it, I felt that having Wu Sifu ditch Harry during his first excursion into the Wizarding World just felt too out-of-character.

**_A final note: Wu Sifu does not start with Tom Riddle's childhood because he doesn't actually know about Tom Riddle's childhood. That information is generally exclusive to Dumbledore._**

**_The story's beginning to pick up the pace now that the insanely long exposition is finally drawing to a close. I hope to be in Hogwarts by the next chapter.)_**


	6. Into Hogwarts

**_(A/N: In this chapter: Action! Revenge! Harry with an actual backbone! And a lot of spilled candy. Sorry for the delay on this chapter, but I happened to lose my copy of Philosopher's Stone and couldn't find it for a long time..._**

**_Since it's been a while, a brief recap: Harry went to Diagon Alley, met Neville at Madame Malkin's, joined up with Hermione, and was told about Voldemort.)_**

* * *

**HARRY POTTER and the ART of WING CHUN**

**6  
**_into hogwarts_

If anyone had told Harry that there was any such thing as three-quarters of a platform before he had met Wu Sifu, he might've called them 'barking mad' (as Vernon Dursley would have put it). However, after his visit to Diagon Alley, the idea of three-quarters of a platform felt quite ordinary. Even running through a dividing barrier to get to it hardly seemed peculiar.

He and Hermione were able to smoothly board the train, thanks to Wu Sifu's experience with Hogwarts. After bidding their respective guardians goodbye, they settled into a cozy compartment, ready for the long trip ahead.

"Would you—s'pose I could sit here? Everywhere else is full."

Both heads looked up. A tall, gangling redheaded boy stood in the compartment doorway, hair mussed and ears pink.

"You've got dirt on your nose," Hermione said.

Harry gently elbowed her in the ribs as the boy's expression began to darken. "It's fine," he said. "I'm Harry. How do you do?"

The boy took a seat, scrubbing wildly at his nose. "I'm Ron," he said, pointedly ignoring Hermione. "This is my first time. My family's all gone to Hogwarts, though. Except for Ginny, my little sister."

"This is our first time too," Harry said, and pulled at Hermione's arm.

"I'm Hermione," she said, but quite huffily.

"'Mione," Harry said.

"Well, I can't quite say it's nice to meet him," Hermione said.

"At least we can agree on _something_," Ron bit back.

Harry winced as Hermione and Ron fixed each other with piercing glares. "So… are all your family wizards?" he asked, attempting to get the situation under control.

"Er—yes, I think so," said Ron, turning his back to Hermione. "I think Mum's got a second cousin who's an accountant, but we never talk about him."

"So you must know loads of magic already."

Ron shrugged. "What about you?" he asked. "Got any siblings?"

"Um, not really. I live with non-wizards. Muggles, I think."

Ron started. "Muggles? Really? What are they like?"

Harry grimaced. "Horrible—well, not all of them. My aunt and uncle and cousin are, though. Wish I'd had some wizard brothers or sisters."

Hermione's scowl, which had been darkening by the second, snapped into a very odd sort of wince. "_Well _then, I see that you two are getting along," she said dourly. "I s'pose I mustn't intrude, so I shall be off for a brief sojourn to the bathroom."

She grabbed her handbag and strutted from the compartment, slamming the door behind her with a little more force than was necessary. Harry watched her leave with a sinking feeling in his stomach.

"She seems rather contrary," Ron said.

"'Mione's alright," Harry said quickly. "Perhaps she's not having a good day."

Ron snorted disbelievingly, but continued to tell Harry about his fascinating wizarding family. Harry tried to listen, but some small part of his mind nagged that he should've tried to get Hermione to stay.

::-::

It didn't take long for Harry and Ron to become good friends. Harry hadn't the chance to make friends with boys his age, and Ron's fresh normalcy was inviting. They easily shared food and sweets, chatting about moving pictures and Chocolate Frog cards as time slipped by.

There was an odd moment where a young girl stopped in front of his and Ron's compartment and stared straight at him, then down at a book titled _Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century_, then promptly sprinted away. Harry tried to put the event out of his mind, but he didn't have much of a chance—only a few minutes passed before he got more visitors to his compartment.

There were three boys. The one in the center had a pale, pointed face and stood a bit stiffly, as if he had a rod taped all along his backside. The two companions on either side of him were thickset and looked extremely mean. It didn't take much to guess that they were bodyguards.

"They're saying all down the train that Harry Potter's in this compartment," the pale boy said. "So it's you, is it?"

"No," Ron said, while Harry said, "Yes."

Ron's eyes widened. "What? Where?" he said, and peered under the seats as if he was expecting Harry Potter to come crawling out.

"I'm Harry Potter," Harry said, realizing he hadn't revealed this little fact to Ron earlier.

Ron almost fell over.

The pale boy sneered at Ron. "Well, my father did warn me about the types that would be coming to Hogwarts. I suppose I should add _brainless_ to one of them."

At that rude comment, Harry instantly took to analyzing the boy's bodyguards. Although their builds were threatening, they had bad posture and didn't seem to be too alert. He could easily take one down, at least.

The pale boy noticed where Harry was looking. "Oh, this is Crabbe and this is Goyle," he said carelessly. "And my name's Malfoy, Draco Malfoy."

Ron made a strange sound that was a mix between a chuckle and a cough. Malfoy veered to him.

"Think my name's funny, do you? No need to ask who you are. My father told me all the Weasleys have red hair, freckles, and more children than they can afford."

Ron's face reddened. "Look here—"

Malfoy turned back to Harry, ignoring Ron. "You'll soon find out some wizarding families are much better than others, Potter. You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there."

He held out his hand. Harry stared at it.

"I think I can tell who the wrong sort are for myself, thanks," he said.

Draco Malfoy's cheeks flushed the tiniest bit, and it was then when Harry saw past his little show. Malfoy was pathetically insecure, to the point where he found it necessary to enforce his self-worth upon everybody around him, demeaning them until he felt valuable. It was quite sad, really.

"I'd be careful if I were you, Potter," Malfoy said slowly. "Unless you're a bit politer you'll go the same way as your parents. They didn't know what was good for them either."

All sympathy shattered.

"Say that again," Ron said, leaping to his feet. But Malfoy was staring at Harry.

Harry stood, slowly, and turned to Malfoy. His face was passive. Malfoy's was fixed with a sneer.

"What?" Malfoy said. "Can't you answer that?"

"I would," Harry said, "but the idea that a boy with no friends is trying to give me social advice is a bit laughable."

Malfoy's face whitened, while Ron's split into a grin. "W-well, maybe a boy with no parents should try listening to one that still has them!" Malfoy spat.

Harry's temper snapped. He seized the collar of Malfoy's cloak—Wu Sifu would cry at his form—about to throw him to the ground, but Crabbe swung a lightning-fast punch at his face. Harry raised his elbow, guiding it away, and swung Malfoy around to use as a shield between him and Goyle. Meanwhile, Ron lunged forward on Crabbe with a ferocious yell, knocking him to the ground. Unfortunately, Crabbe, being far larger and heavier, managed to toss him off without much trouble and pin him to the ground.

"So," Malfoy spat, "looks like we're tied."

"Haven't the slightest what you mean," Harry said, rattling Malfoy against the wall.

"It's easy, isn't it?" Malfoy said. "You let me go, and I let your riffraff Weasley go."

Strangely enough, the more vicious comments Malfoy tossed out, the less anger Harry felt. Malfoy was really just a kid. Fighting him felt like fighting a three-year-old that was throwing a tantrum.

"What, you're going to keep fighting?" Malfoy said. "Two on three? Now you're just acting like a dimwit, Potter."

Harry let Malfoy go, but he dropped to the ground and snapped two kicks at the backs of Crabbe and Goyle's knees. They heaved forward and he seized hold of Goyle's arm, dragging back his fingers in a painful hold until Golye collapsed on the ground, sniveling. Crabbe lashed out to him and he quickly blocked with both his hands, gently but firmly kneeing Crabbe in the stomach. He stood and turned to Malfoy, who was looking quite shaken up, having never seen his bodyguards dispatched so quickly.

"M-my father will hear about this," he said.

"Leave," Harry said. "And don't talk about my parents again."

Malfoy scrambled away, Crabbe and Goyle in his wake. Somehow, Harry knew that Malfoy wouldn't tattle quite yet. His pride was too damaged.

Just a few minutes later, Hermione popped in the door, looking much refreshed. Her mouth dropped agape at the signs of chaos in the compartment. "What _has_ been going on?" she said, picking up one of the spilled Bertie Botts Every Color Beans.

Ron got to his feet, about to protest about Malfoy and his bullying, but Harry quickly shook his head at him. Frowning, Ron fell silent.

"We were trying to play a game," Harry said. "We accidentally knocked some candy over."

Hermione gave Ron a suspicious glare. He returned it indignantly. "Well, we must clean up. Perhaps you can get in trouble for littering."

"It's candy," Ron balked.

"And it's spilled in the cracks of the seats and all over the floor," Hermione said. "Cleanliness, _Ron_. We _are_ nearly at Hogwarts, so we'd best get started."

Harry know that by _we_, Hermione actually meant _you and Ron_.

He sighed. "Yes, Hermione."

::-::

Meanwhile, things were not going brilliantly in the Dursley household.

Dudley had wanted to have his gang over, but the large squad of roaming police quickly cut out that idea. No matter how much he complained to his mum and dad, they refused to send the police away.

"They need to be able to look around, Duddy-dums," his mum said firmly. "Harry's gone off and we need to find him as soon as we can."

Dudley almost blew his top off. Harry! Harry Potter! Of course; it was _always_ Harry's fault! But why were _his parents_ looking for _Harry_? Blimey, did they actually _like_ Harry? Did they want to treat him as their son, for _real_?

The sheer prospect had Dudley plopping on the floor and executing the most intense temper tantrum he'd had since yesterday. To his relief, Petunia moved quickly, trying to offer him chocolate and candies, and completely forgot about Harry. That was good. There was no need to remember Harry. Dudley was far more important than Harry.

"Ma'am?"

Petunia immediately stood, absentmindedly tossing the candies in her hand at Dudley. They hit him in the face, shocking him into silence. "Yes, officer," she said, almost breathlessly.

"No sign yet, Ma'am," said the officer, "but I have a brief question."

"Ask ahead, officer," Petunia said, and Dudley began to feel a worse temper tantrum brewing.

"What," the officer said, "is the meaning of this?"

He gestured toward Harry's cupboard under the stairs. Petunia's eyes widened.

"Oh—that's just where we keep the cat," she said hurriedly.

"There isn't a cat around here," the officer said, folding his arms. He suddenly looked _quite_ menacing. "Why are there are blankets in that cupboard, Ma'am? Have you been forcing a child to sleep there?"

"No," Petunia gasped.

"Mummy's lying," Dudley said, in an unusual display of bitterness—but it was his Mummy's fault, his Mummy wasn't paying him any attention.

"DUDLEY!" Petunia shrieked.

The officer looked Dudley up and down. "Well, I can tell that it's not you," he said easily. He turned back to Petunia. "Perhaps the very same boy that ran away is the one that you've been forcing to live in a cupboard?"

Realizing that this was a losing battle, Petunia changed tactics. "He was disobedient every day, officer," she said. "It was ridiculous, really, the horrible things that he would do."

The officer nodded, but Petunia didn't even have to look him in the eye to tell that he didn't trust her one whit. "We'll keep searching for the boy, Ma'am, but you've added one more item to our investigations list," he said.

When he left, Petunia shakily sat down, repeatedly smoothing her skirt over her legs. Dudley felt quite smug. Until Petunia whipped around, eyes on fire, and banished him to his room to 'think about what he just did.'

Dudley cried and screamed and wailed the whole time, but neither Petunia nor Vernon Dursley went to comfort him until supper.

::-::

Meanwhile, first-years were flooding into Hogwarts's Great Hall. Ironically, the first thing to catch Harry's attention was not the enchanted ceiling, nor the scores of floating candles, nor the shining gold pillars or lengthy wooden tables, but a single familiar face that he spotted in the crowd.

"Neville!" he said, waving frantically.

Neville whipped around, eyes wide in amazement. "Harry!" he said. "Did you go by the loco? I didn't see you."

_It's probably better you didn't, _Harry thought, recalling his tiff with Draco Malfoy. "I was there," he said. "Oh, and here's Ron. Ron, this is Neville. We met at Malkin's."

Ron and Neville shook hands.

"Neville… Longbottom?" Ron said. "I think my parents know your granny."

"You don't say," Neville said excitedly. "Are you a Weasley?"

Ron seemed rather miffed, but softened when he realized that Neville only asked out of friendliness. "I s'pose so," he said.

Neville seemed like he wanted to say more, but the stern Professor McGonagall had placed the Sorting Hat on a stool and the whole Great Hall hushed as if they were waiting for something to begin. Harry sure hadn't expected the hat to _sing_, that was for sure. He applauded just as loudly as everyone else when the hat finished, wondering if he could possibly be surprised by anything else.

The Sorting began, and Harry noted that Hermione looked quite stiff and Ron looked quite queasy. When McGonagall read Hermione's name, she almost tripped over the stool in her eagerness, jamming the Sorting Hat over her head.

"GRYFFINDOR!" shouted the hat.

Ron groaned. Harry thought about her books and her studies and wondered why she hadn't been sorted into Ravenclaw.

That thought quickly passed away as Neville was also sorted into Gryffindor. Ron wanted to be in Gryffindor, so if Harry could make it into Gryffindor, he would be with all his friends.

"Potter, Harry!"

Harry stepped forward. Whispers broke out like little hissing fires all over the hall.

"_Potter_, did she say?"

"_The_ Harry Potter?"

Harry dropped the hat over his eyes, trying to ignore the crowd of people craning their necks to try and look at him. The hat began talking almost immediately.

"Hmm," it said. "This looks like it will be difficult. Plenty of courage, I see. Not a bad mind either. There's talent, oh my goodness, yes—and a nice thirst to prove yourself, now that's interesting… So where shall I put you?"

_Gryffindor might be nice,_ Harry said. _That's where my friends are going._

"You will make friends in whatever House you are, Harry Potter—ah, yes, you mustn't worry about that. But—what is this I found? Someone has been training you, yes? I sense development in your mental defences… _Extraordinary _development, really."

Harry shifted uncomfortably. _Could you put me in Gryffindor, please?_

"Not Slytherin?" said the voice. "You could be great, you know, it's all here in your head, and Slytherin will help you on the way to greatness, no doubt about that."

Harry felt himself getting a tiny bit irritated at the hat. He tried not to be too snarky to it, because its decision determined his future—but oh, how he wanted to. _Did I ask for Slytherin?_

"You've been asking for Gryffindor, that's for sure, but oh, the possibilities if you were to—"

_Then put me in Gryffindor. Please._

The hat hardly seemed perturbed. "Well, if you're sure—better be GRYFFINDOR!"

Harry sighed and took off the hat, walking shakily toward the Gryffindor table. He didn't even notice that he was getting the loudest cheer yet, and that a red-haired prefect (most likely one of Ron's many brothers) was shaking his hand vigorously, and that Hermione had practically tackled him in a hug. Suddenly alarm bells were going off in the back of his head—someone was trying to infiltrate his mind.

Harry whipped around, eyes searching for the intruding presence in his mind. His eyes fell on Professor Quirrell's turban. Perhaps Professor Quirrell had his turban on backwards and was trying to use Legilimency on him? It didn't make much sense to Harry, but it was _possible_—

No, Professor Quirrell was talking to another professor. Then what was coming out the back of his turban?

As the Sorting continued, Harry fought off the presence. Thankfully, it was weak; it couldn't even pass his reflectors. It didn't take much attention to ward off, but it did get rather annoying. Despite the piles of delicious food on the feast table, Harry attempted to eat as fast as possible.

"You can slow down, Harry," Hermione said. "The food will hardly disappear."

"You're eating even faster than Ron," Neville said brightly. "That seems like an impressive feat."

Ron looked up, a large chicken drumstick clenched in each fist. The expression on his face made Neville and Harry burst into laughter. Even Hermione couldn't suppress a smile.

"I'm not starving or anything," Harry said. "I just feel like going to bed early." He faked a yawn. "You know, it's been quite a day."

Ron looked quite saddened at the prospect of leaving the feast.

Harry slapped him on the back. "You lot stay. I'll ask a prefect. Ron, Neville, tell me what I've missed later, yeah?"

He didn't wait for an answer and turned to find the nearest prefect, keenly aware of the needling in the back of his head. The uncomfortable feeling only subsided when he had safely reached his dormitory room and dropped off to sleep.

* * *

**_(I've gotten an overwhelming amount of questions about the unfairness of the Dursley's ability to maintain guardianship over Harry for two years:_**

**Q: After all, they performed some insane acts that would definitely be considered child abuse (who puts a kid in a cupboard?), the judge should consider where Harry wants to live, and shouldn't there be some presence of some form of Child Welfare?**

A: Technically, yes. And this is probably the biggest issue I've had to contend with thus far, as I had no knowledge of British law, especially British law in its state at the 1980's. I put in a few hours of research, but sadly still came up short. (I'm a writer, not a lawyer, and my head for law is quite limited.) However, I do have a thought process: 1) Harry was very young. It's difficult to struggle through the law at his age, especially with adults trying to manipulate him left and right. 2) Wu Sifu comes from the Wizarding World. He's far more familiar with Wizarding Law than Muggle law. 3) There are most likely several boundaries on suing for guardianship so that children aren't just taken from their homes left and right. Thus, it would be incredibly difficult to Wu Sifu to take Harry from the Dursleys. Also, the judge should ask Harry where he wants to live, but that will not always be the determining factor. 4) One would think Child Welfare (or its British equivalent) would get involved, but do keep in mind that Harry lived in Little Whinging, and nothing really happens in Little Whinging. Besides, who would report to Child Welfare? The neighbors, who only really care about themselves? The Dursleys, who were the perpetrators? Would they take Hermione seriously? And Wu Sifu, despite his best efforts, is busy and not knowledgable about the law. It is likely he didn't know about Child Welfare, seeing as he has no children himself. I acknowledge that there are ways I could have put a bigger presence of the law, but honestly, I just hate getting drudged in exposition, and I'd rather focus on the actual focus—magic and martial arts.

**_Also, I skipped several points, such as Snape's introduction, Scabbers, the opening speech by Professor McGonagall, singing of the Hogwarts hymn, etc. I consider these filler points that don't really need to be repeated, since I don't want to just be plagiarizing the book._**

_Semi-important announcement: **Both my fan fiction profile and my writing tumblr (lcli dot tumblr dot com) now have 'queues.' Basically, you'll be able to see the stories I'm currently working on updating, as well as an estimated update date. I find that these have been working out better than my attempted progress bars.**_

_**Thank you all for your support and I hope you are enjoying the story. One of the best scenes thus far is just around the corner, so I'm excited for the next two chapters.)**_


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